Counting Up
by Final-Acts
Summary: [the Prestige] Angier and Borden travel to Transylvania. When vampires and wayward magicians meet, there is only one outcome. The silence.
1. Chapter 1

They don't belong to me, I saw the movie once, it's not conventional (the term AU mean anything to kids these days?

* * *

**Counting Up:  
1. **

Borden slipped the invitation back into his pocket, wanting the touch of the thick paper to fade from the memories of his fingertips. There was something in it that he knew he didn't like, however foolish that was, something stinging. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the side of the jolting car, which hadn't yet stopped swaying and screeching dangerously on the tracks. _I think I'm going to be sick, _he thought, opening his eyes and giving Angier a quick and bitter glance. The other man was standing in the middle of the car, hands on his back, looking up at the ceiling. _Calm as can be. Of course. There's no one for him to impress here. But me. _With a frown, he let his own eyes drift up, to see what Angier was studying so intently.

"Something up there?" Angier asked, without looking. Borden bristled and shifted his position, leaning against the door with his face against the crack. The wind was freezing, from fingers to guts, and it made his eyes water, but it was better to see at least a little sliver of the land around them than nothing. It made him think that he felt better.

"So you're really coming with me? You know that you don't have to. He's probably just a boring old man who knows who I am and wants a little bit of entertainment." Borden didn't bother making his voice loud enough to be easily heard, and he was aware of Angier bending – just a little bit – to catch it better.

"You're not asking me not to come, are you?" Why did Rupert have to sound so smug and irritating every time he opened his mouth?

"No. I'm just thinking, maybe you won't be up for the trip."

Angier frowned. "What do you mean? We're already on the way."

Borden shook his head. "I lied a little bit about that when I said the train stops in his town. I'm getting off at the next stop. The Count said he arranged for a couple of horses to be ready for me there, and a carriage if I needed it. I've got a map. It shouldn't be more than a few hours of traveling to get to his castle."

"You lied. Well, that's a new and inspiring surprise." Angier folded his arms over his chest, glaring sharply at the tramps who had just then been muttering to themselves in some mix of English and nonsense whilst gesturing to him. He didn't like it. Oblivious to Borden's next glare, he walked over to him and stood above him, one hand on the rattling wall that made up the door, the other at his side. So what if Borden might feel a little bit trapped by having someone stand like that over him? It wasn't like he'd ever given a damn about who could be free and who couldn't. "What are you trying to do? Tempt me out there with you, away from everyone, so you can kill me? You might as well do it here. They won't mind. These gentlemen would probably welcome the entertainment."

"Don't talk to me like I got you on this train," Alfred replied quietly, a bit sullenly. "You're in shit too, remember?"

Angiers was silent. He opened his mouth to say something, but when nothing came out he huffed – it was a somewhat genteel huff – and walked away to sit on a pile of wooden crates. This boxcar was far too small.


	2. Continuing

Despite having both been mysteriously mugged and robbed several nights preceding their impromptu and illegal train ride, both Rupert Angier and Alfred Borden found themselves unwilling to get off of the train when it finally stopped. Borden had pulled the door back roughly, clearly not minding who might have heard it and come to look into the noise, and after that he hadn't moved. With a curious frown, Angier got up off of his less-than-comfortable bed of splintery wooden crates and joined him, standing on his right.

"You're not afraid, are you?" He chided in a gentle, almost familiar tone, unaware of himself. Borden looked up at him coolly, then shook his head and rubbed his hands together, drawing attention to the way that the two padded fingers didn't move like the rest of them did. Angier cleared his throat quietly and looked out to see whatever it was that had stunned Borden. "What did you…"

_Dear god. _He put one hand on the doorframe and used the other to button his jacket up to the collar again.

The town was a sordid mess of misery, deep under the spell of disrepair and likely unsalvageable. The frigid pink light of the autumn evening did nothing to soften any of the broken planks of wood sticking out from fences and rooftops, nothing to give a peaceful gloss to the smoke coming off of the bonfire burning in the middle of a muddy, pitiful courtyard. The good citizens of the town were standing around it, some armed with crude woodworking tools, others with antique looking weapons that promised to deliver a healthy dose of razor-sharp rust into a wound. Motionless, silent, they stood staring at the train. At Borden and Angier.

"They must have heard about your face," Borden answered, looking steadily at them. A smile spread over his lips and he stepped out of the car.

"Or your poor showmanship," Angier returned half-heartedly, following him down as well. The ground was muck under his boots and he was sure that the stains would never come out. _This is what I get for following him on this detour. Well, the train hasn't left yet. There is nothing to stop me from getting back on it – perhaps I can persuade my way into one of the passenger seats. _He tapped his cane against a rock absently, then started walking forward. "I wonder which of them we should speak to."

"All of them. I guess." If he was feeling any uncertainty, Alfred didn't intend for it to show. Besides. It was just a dingy little town, what was there to be worried about? He didn't wait for Angier and his limp, but strode ahead. The group of several dozen watched him, more hostile than most audiences even he was used to. "Hello! I'm the Professor. Borden. You have horses waiting for me?"

No one reacted. He readjusted the bag slung over his shoulder. After the robbery, there wasn't much left in it.

"Even friendlier up close," Angier remarked, catching up. Borden made a noncommittal grunt. "Did you tell them who you are?"

Borden took another step forward and held up one of his hands. "Alfred Borden. Count Dracula left horses and a cab here, does anyone know where they are?" People began muttering to themselves and several walked away. Borden decided to assume that they were going to fetch the animals. "Thank you." At a loss, he folded his arms and stood there, more weight on his right leg.

"Is something wrong?" Angier asked one of the women, giving her one of what he knew to be his most winning smiles. She gave him a hard look and turned to a young man, dressed in black. He seemed to be some sort of priest, but Angier wasn't sure what kind of religion could be expected out here. "You, sir, do you speak English?"

The man smiled wistfully and nodded, reaching up with a fine-fingered hand to brush some of his brown hair out of his eyes. It was an unremarkable shade, but a beautiful thickness, and he had a strong jaw, a pleasant smile. "Enough. My Romanian is better. You have questions, sir?"

Angier and Borden exchanged a look. The man might be a priest – he had a bible under his arm – but that didn't mean he couldn't put hackles up with only a few words.

"What's going on with the axes and stuff?" Borden asked, stepping forward enough to be a few inches ahead of Angier.

"That is," Angier interrupted, "My name is Rupert Angier. This is my – colleague, Alfred Borden." He held out a hand.

"Father Hapsrik. It is a pleasure, visitors."

"Right, how do you do." _You exasperate me, you gimp. _Borden smiled too, although he didn't bother to keep out the less-than-happy edge. "What's with the weapons?"

Hapsrik looked around himself and gave what was clearly meant to be a hapless and apologetic smile, shrugging his shoulders. "They don't mean any harm. It's just – when you come back this way, they don't want you to bring anything from Castle Dracula, or his godless village, with you. There are old legends and rivers of bad blood there, and these days, superstition is a stronger faith than the one I try to spread."

_Great. _Borden nodded. "So we're getting searched when we come out. Fine. Thanks." Before he could let himself get too polite or too abrasive, the horses were brought to them. Both were stallions, wild-eyed and blacker than night. Both wore saddles. Seeing this, Angier tapped Borden's arm and raised an eyebrow in question, but Borden just shook his head. He didn't know how the Count had known he would be bringing another with him.

"Let's not linger." Angier took the reins of one, briefly considering how painful his leg was likely to be when they dismounted, and he climbed up onto the beast. It had been a long time since he had seen anything this large and muscular, and he almost felt intimidated – for just a moment. _I don't ride enough. _Borden soon followed suit and, with a smile and a wave to Hapsrik, they headed off.


	3. Stopping

Angier sighed quietly as he readjusted his position, trying to ease the heavy ache coming out of his bones. His breath turned into a cloud of white in front of his face and he frowned at it, feeling the ice particles brushing against his skin when he rode through it. There was very little light left in the sky, maybe another half hour's worth if they were lucky, and everything around them was getting colder. The horses didn't seem to mind the darkness, the cold, or the less-than-experienced riders, however; they just stepped lightly on the way that they apparently knew so very well.

Almost an hour had passed with no conversation between the two of them, and Angier wasn't sure whether this pleased him now or irked him. It had been better not to talk much on the train, for they had a strange audience there, and clearly neither had been in a decently civil frame of mind, but here? With just the two of them on the edge of this god-forsaken mountain they were climbing? Their tiny bodies of heat were alone and isolated from everything else in the world by this cold and this darkness, and a little bit of sound might not be out of place.

"Borden," Angier called softly. The shorter man didn't respond, didn't so much as twitch in an attempt to look back at him, and Angier scowled. When he spoke again, it was with a harder edge to his voice. "Hey, Borden. You don't intend to ride all night, do you?"

"And get there at a dead hour?" Borden scoffed and shook his head, still not looking back. "I think maybe we should camp out. There's a blanket here, with mine." He patted a saddlebag that Angier could have sworn wasn't there ten minutes ago. "I just, well…"

"Well what?" He touched his steed's sides with his heels and it obligingly went up alongside Borden's. The horses got too close and the men's legs were crushed against each other, but it was Angier's right. He didn't enjoy coming into contact with Borden, but he enjoyed even less the fact that even pressed against each other like this, there was no heat. _We're far too cold. He's mad. I'm mad for following him out here. _

Borden shrugged, moving away to avoid the touch. "I've never just picked a place to sleep out in the mountains before, all right? I'm not sure what to look for. Don't suppose you've got the know-how." It galled him to admit it.

"I… No. I suppose my knowledge may be somewhat lacking in that area. Do you mean to say that you've no idea of yourself, now?"

"Whatever that meant, Rupe, just stuff it." There was a sudden gleam – or smirk – in Borden's eyes, and he turned off of the trail and headed through the trees. Stifling an angry protest, (_don't call me Rupe),_ Angier quickly followed, keeping the sharp words on the tip of his tongue in case they were needed. He had to duck down low over the beast's neck to avoid having his head taken off by ice-encrusted boughs, but at least Borden was little better off. A few seconds later however, when they came out into a depressed clearing, he could have kissed the smaller man – or at least thumped him on the back. There was a small stone structure there, clearly a tiny house of sorts, and a tiny stable attached.

"I hope no-one lives here." Angier watched Borden dismount and walk towards the door. He knocked on it and it swung open. Borden disappeared into the dark building, and at the moment that he vanished Angier felt a sudden pang of panic, a need to warn him against it – but then Borden walked back out.

"Nothing. I think maybe it's meant for travelers. Stocked up with wood and whatnot." He picked up his horse's reins, not even realizing how obediently it had considered itself ground-tied, and started off towards the tiny stable. Angier followed, still mounted, and again had to duck down when they went inside. There was only one stall, but it was wide enough for the two horses, and there was a bale of straw or hay tightly wrapped in cloth. He watched as Borden cut it open and spread it over the icy stones, softening the stall into an almost acceptable bedding place, and then as Borden began removing the horse's tack. _He knows what he's doing better than I do. _

"You like it up there that much, do you?" Borden asked without looking to see that Angier was in fact still on his animal. He'd found an oddly shaped blanket with clasps on it which he put up over his animal's back, hooking it around his neck. The horse accepted it without question and started eating some of the hay, which was sweet smelling. "I think they're used to it here. Wonder how much this happens."

"Too frequently, as far as I am concerned. I'll see to my own animal, if you'd care to go inside and start a fire." Angier was reluctant to let the younger man watch him experience pain as he climbed down. _Just go inside, leave me alone. Stop looking at me like you know. _

"Yeah, like you want." Alfred got out the blanket that he'd mentioned earlier and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the splintery looking stool and placed it next to Angier. The man and the horse both looked at it with disdain and Borden sighed, exasperated. "What? I thought it might help you get down. Leg must be stiff."

"Go away," Angier snapped, forgetting himself as he looked down at that handsome face, touched with pink at the cheeks and nose from the cold, feeling a rush of hatred for Borden. He had done this to him, Borden had done _all _of this to him.

Borden twitched his scarred eyebrow, then shook his head and got up on the stool himself. _Ridiculously big damn horses. _If Angier was wary about jumping down, not sure how well he was going to land or stand, then Alfred had a solution. He saw the realization in Angier's eyes the second that he got up on the stool, but he didn't pause. Angier yelled something quickly and angry, not wanting to be touched, but by that point Borden had already picked him up off of the animal and set him gently on his feet, on the ground. Borden couldn't resist a quick grin, then he hopped lightly off of the stool and went inside. Angier straightened his jacket, brushed off the lapels, and then glared at his stallion, who was eyeing him with what he felt was skepticism.

"You just keep quiet. I don't need attitude from both of you."

The horse whickered quietly and Angier shook his head at it, then began.


	4. One

The fire was crackling pitifully when Angier walked into the tiny hut, but even just seeing it made him feel warmer. Borden was crouched in front of it, holding his hands only inches from the flames, and there was a chair pulled up as well. Irritated, and not sure why, Angier sat in the chair, which Borden had already set at an angle. Angier was able to stretch out his leg and also put his hands above the flames. It irritated him that Borden had thought of this, when he was responsible for the pain in the first place. Minute considerations did not make anything _better. _

"Feels like we could just get up and go home anytime," Borden said quietly, not looking again. Angier took his hands away from the fire and folded his arms over his body. "Not like we're just out here, middle of nowhere, poor and cold." 

"Do you realize how much you talk?"

Borden closed his eyes for just a moment, but it was enough of a reaction to actually upset Angier – but only to a slight degree. He felt the instant urge to apologize, but instead he said nothing, looking at the fire and wishing that things were different. They were both silent for a long time, and then Borden shook his head.

"Denial." 

"What?" Angier frowned.

"One."

Abruptly, and without getting his jacket, which had been discarded on the bed, Borden walked out into the night.


	5. Mourning & Morning

Title of this chapter is the title of one of Muse's best poems ever, or very close to it, anyway. You rock, B. Shaw

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Borden was back only a few heartbeats later with an armload of firewood. He dropped it down on the stone floor next to the fireplace and brushed snow and wood debris off of his coat. When he caught the way that Angier was looking at him, he frowned. "What? See a ghost while I was out?" 

"What did you mean?" Angier was more comfortable now, propped in his chair with his diary on his lap. A quick glance at it told Borden that the man was up to his usual diary tricks – recording all of the numbers and events of the day. It looked like miles traveled, hours on the road, any estimated expense or money he was losing while he was here. Angier was obsessive about his record-keeping, which wasn't something that Borden understood, or particularly wanted to.

"What do you mean, what did I mean? I wasn't slurring."

"For once." Angier blew lightly over the surface of the ink, then closed the book and put it away, tucking the pen in between the pages before he did so. "I wasn't speaking of just now. I was talking about when you went outside. You said denial and the word one, then exited without explanation. Am I missing something?"

Borden shook his head at him. "I don't know what you're on about. That didn't happen."

Although the small building was well insulated, a cold breeze seemed to find its way in, as it suddenly whispered down the length of Angier's spine. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the young man, thinking about inquiring further – but he didn't. "All right. I'm sure you have your reasons, unfathomable as they always are. There's just the one bed."

They both looked at it and Borden just shrugged in response to Angier's unasked question. "I'm about to lose my ass, it's that cold. If you're too white-collar to share a bed with me, that's your problem, but I'll resent you for it." That said, he rolled out the blanket and crawled under it onto the hard pallet, facing away. After a soft chuckle, Angier continued writing in his journal. When he finally did join Borden, he couldn't mind the situation – the warmth of a human body was too welcome.

–

When morning came, Borden woke first. There was brilliantly white sunlight coming in the window and streaming directly onto his face, blinding him and holding him no warmth. He sighed and turned his head away from it, pressing it against Angier's warm shoulder. The taller man had ended up with most of the blankets, which Borden had expected, but he was also doing more to heat the room than the miserable remains of the little fire. Angier grunted a little bit, probably not liking the cold nose pressed into his flesh, and Borden laughed quietly. Moving carefully, he climbed out of the bed without pulling the blanket away, then tucked it down firmly around Rupert.

His muscles were stiff and he stretched, wincing a little bit at the shoots of pain that came out from all around them. It felt like ice crystals in his blood were being popped and broken – and that visual didn't do a lot to make him feel better.

A few steps took him over to the fireplace and he added some more logs on. He didn't think that they would be here for much longer, but he was fairly sure that Angier would feel better and more mobile if the room was warmer. Once the fire was going, Borden sat down in the same chair from the night before and pulled out a journal of his own.

_I think that it is November 13th. What are we doing out here? I have misgivings about the count, the cold, the country. Everything is frozen. My hands, my nose, the ground, my traveling companion. It was I who broke his leg, but not myself – nevertheless I feel guilt for it. He hides the pain well, covering it with a gentlemanly limp, but I do see it. I see the way that he does not move his knee, the swollen place in his hip. Riding is not easy for Angier. Just as well. We should reach Castle Dracula within a few hours. A meal and a real bed will be welcome, as will whatever secrets he wishes to share with me. There must be something. How could this man have heard of me? Why is it that Claudin's workshop was supposedly discovered just days before I received the invitation? And is it convenience or contrivance that one way or another, I found myself compelled to travel in this direction? If not for the Count, it would be for Claudin. If not Claudin, the Count. Who is this Dracula? The name looks like something that I should know. The people living here are strange. Very little makes sense – but I will be patient. I miss myself. The pain of my death is unbearable. _

Borden quickly put the pencil away and slammed the little book shut. He looked over at Angier as if the man knew, but the other was still sleeping, mouth slightly ajar, a mixture of happiness and pain lurking in the lines around his eyes.

He opened the diary again, not looking at it this time, but studying his companion for several long minutes instead. Then, on a new page, he wrote a question mark at the top. Under that, he put the words: _Denial. One. _

_What was I counting to? He said that I said it, but as I am only myself now, I cannot see how I did without knowing. I doubt that he lied. I will see. _

With that, he was done for now. Borden stood and went to get the horses ready. He didn't want to spend more time here than they had to.


	6. Arriving at the Castle

The truth is that I got a little bit bored with this story and I was going to delete it – but then Charlemaine's review popped up, and I was flattered enough by how much time someone had given to the review of it that I figured… hell, why not go on a little bit more? And, for the record, Yes: they are a little bit gay in that one scene. That may be a recurring theme, I'm not sure yet. Let me put it this way: I am not _planning _on slashing Rupert and Alfred, but relationships in high-stress environments can be ever so unpredictable. And Dracula, well, he's going to be a little bit of a stressor. Speaking of! He's finally here! And, in case anyone doesn't quite get it… any weird sentences about Borden, like "he had never been as good as himself at.." or something like that, usually is a reference to his brother.

* * *

It was only midday when they found themselves in sight of the castle, and at first glance, Angier didn't like it at all. It didn't look either very large or very grand, but the stones reflected the day's meager sunlight in a way that seemed to suggest they were the masters of keeping secrets within. It was black inside those windows, and a darkness emanated from it, despite it still being nearly a mile away.

"Whoa," Angier said softly, in an American way, to his horse. He wanted to stop for a minute and look at the place before charging up, but the animals seemed eager and excited to be so close to home. When it didn't stop right away, but tossed its head and hopped, he looked over questioningly at Borden. The other prestidigitator was having similar troubles, and shook his head. "I guess we'll just let them have their heads," Rupert suggested, raising one of his eyebrows. Borden grunted something and hopped down to the ground, seizing both of the reins in one hand, forcing both animals to stop.

"Get down."

"Why?"

Borden shot him a brief look of venom and said nothing else, but started to release the reins of Angier's horse. "Wait! I'll walk with you." Angier climbed down to the ground and pulled his cane out of the loop he'd tucked it into, on the saddle. Once he had it, he nodded, and Borden tucked the reins up over the almost non-existent pommels, then let the horses go. They were off like darts, tails streaming, hooves pounding.

"You know, I doubt that our Count leant us his fine steeds so that we might introduce ourselves footsore and weary."

"Come on, it's not that far." They began walking, and Borden put his cold hands into his pockets. "I bet it's not even a mile. Not even half. Besides, it's a nice morning. I felt like walking."

It was Angier's turn to give a somewhat noncommittal huff now, and he shook his head. "I don't mind. I suppose that I want to put off our arrival as well."

"Who said anything about that?" Borden's look was skeptical, and Angier didn't even try to answer him. They both knew the truth.

By the time they made it up to the front door, both of them were sweating and a little bit breathless, as the way up had been steeper than it had looked. They set foot onto the first step in unison, and Borden reached out to knock, but then stopped and looked a little bit flustered when Angier was doing the same thing. Assuming that the better man had been chosen to seize the knocker, Angier moved forward to do it again, just as Borden was about to do the same – and once again, they both stopped, looking each other hard in the eyes. Luckily, they were saved from any further embarassments by the heavy wooden door swinging open. Angier was immediately standing straighter, with a congenial smile hovering near his lips, and Borden took his hands out of his pockets, which they had slipped back into.

A hideous screeching, wheezing sound assaulted them, causing both to flinch. It was so unexpected and so painful sounding that it was hard not to feel sympathy for whatever dying creature had issued the rattle, and Angier narrowed his eyes, trying to see into the darkness of the entryway. There didn't seem to be anyone there. He inclined the upper half of his body a little bit, looking in. "Hello?"

The rasp came again, and then quite suddenly a man burst out from behind the door. He was abnormally short, dominated by a large hump covering most of his back in uneven bulges, and his skin was a pasty white mixed with what looked like dead skin over deep bruises. His left eye was bright and green, a beautiful eye in such an ugly face, and his right eye was milky, with a scar evident over the cornea. He smiled, split lips over sharp teeth that were set far apart from each other, and he said nothing.

"How… do you do?" Angier was aware that he had taken an inadvertant step back, but it was hard to help. This was like encountering some madman who had been lost in caves for years! Still, the creature said nothing, and Angier made a slight face of disgust. It was breathing so heavily, looking at them with a sort of perverse glee…

"I hope _you're _not Count Dracula," Borden stated, in a tone that was a little bit less than polite. The strange man's eyes suddenly went wide and he made the awful wheeze again, which, once again, caused both men to flinch.

"We are… his trusty – butler. Yes. Come in. We have been waiting for his, waiting for you." He punctuated this statement with a shorter, but more violent, breath, and laughed a little bit. "So happy. you could have come in with the horses. Why did you walk? Did you fall?"

_What sort of a manservant is this? _Angier wondered doubtfully. He walked inside, in step with Borden despite his limp, and was pleasantly surprised by the interior of the castle. It wasn't anywhere near as dank as he had been expecting, at least not in the entryway. The sunlight coming in made a cream colored glow off of the walls, which, like the floor, were all scrubbed absolutely clean. The air seemed fresh, and a strange, dark little cat with fey eyes was sprawled in a patch of sunlight, its paws kneading the air.

"No," Borden was saying, looking more at the 'butler' than at their surroundings. "We didn't fall. Felt like walking. What's it to you? Are you ever going to introduce yourself?"

"_Borden,_" Angier said, a little bit more harshly than he'd meant to.

The man-thing didn't care. It just wheezed and grunted what might have been a laugh, then sucked some saliva back into it's mouth. "We are Igor. A prince! Ha! Of this mountains! Your things are in your rooms. Come. We will take you."

"When will we get to meet the count?" Borden asked as they walked down the hall. He had stooped to give the cat a quick pet, and it had hissed at him in a very half-hearted way, as if it expected violence and was surprised to get that passing affection. He trotted back up to them, not wanting to be left behind, and not happy here. The peace that Angier was feeling was entirely lost on Borden; the walls felt close and ominous, and it was just too damn quiet in there. He had never liked being the only him in a new place. He was better at that than he had ever been, and he'd always known it.

"Eh…" Igor stopped at the bottom of some stairs, teetering on one of them. He seemed about to fall, but then he wheezed again and got his balance. "Tonight. After the sun. He is good in his laboratory today. Early to rise, early to die, you know! Ha! Hah!"

They continued up the stairs.

* * *

Okay, so Dracula isn't actually in this chapter. But at least they finally got there. I'll continue today.


	7. A Room with a View

Sorry it's going so slow, thanks for being fans. And I think there are a few other Prestige fics out there, can try to find them if anyone wants to read them, I'll post the links. Assuming they're still up... And yeah, I think that the characters might be a little bit more booky, but hey... at least they're hot, either way. And suppose things do get slashy? It wouldn't be their fault. There's a vampire around the corner. All bets are off when there's a vampire around the corner.

* * *

Igor had shown Angier to his room first, and Angier politely went in and pushed the door to behind himself once Igor left. Borden felt a moment of hesitation, of wanting to go in there and see what the other room was like before he saw his, but he followed anyway. Igor's lurching gait was irritating to look at, and he hoped that they'd just be to his room soon. Being shown around wasn't something that Borden was used to, and he didn't care for it much.

_Why is he taking me so far away? Angier was in the South wing of the castle, the daylight side. I think I'm being taken around to the North. _He paid his usual, special attention to the things that they passed, to the statues and paintings and doors. Not all of the doors had locks, and most of the statues looked as if they were legitimate. There were dozens of long carpets and tapestries hanging down over the walls, and, given that almost all were weighted at the bottom – no doubt commonly done to keep them straight – he wondered how many of them concealed passageways, or mirrors. After all, if the Count wanted him for something, then no doubt, the Count was also _like _him in something. Most men select themselves.

Borden noticed a movement behind himself and looked over his shoulder, searching quickly for the shadow. Nothing. He frowned and looked back ahead, then trotted a few steps to keep up with the lurch-thing. They rounded another corner and climbed a flight of stairs that were steep and narrow, perfect for tripping on in the middle of the night, or sliding something down noiselessly.

"Tell me, Iggy. Why am I being kept so far away from my friend?"

Igor wheezed and his lungs popped; maybe he was laughing to himself, trying to keep it silent. "You call him your friend, do you? Igor likes that. Your friend." He took a white, filmy-looking hand and wiped it over his mouth and nose loudly. "Because of the heating. The other rooms are cold. The same chimneys go through these ones as from below; the warmth. You need it, don't you? Ha, ha!"

Borden didn't say anything back. This thing made his skin crawl like no tomorrow. _Who employs a beast like this? A man who is a beast himself? A man who works out of pity? Or, most simply, and obviously, a man who knows that one such as this can never, and will never, betray his master's many secrets? _

They finally reached a door. Igor produced a key and unlocked it. The tumbling of the locks confirmed, to one who was listening, that the lock was more likely better quality than the door around it. Borden waited patiently, and didn't betray the fact that one of Igor's keys, an interesting small and black one, found its way into his own pocket. The chap wouldn't notice for a while yet, Borden thought, that it was gone.

"Your room, master." Wheeze, pop, hack.

"Thank you." Borden bit back a scowl and a sharp remark. It was dark as sin in there, and musty.

"Do you require anything else?"

_Like what, light? Piss off, you mangy rat. _"No. Thank you."

"Igor will ring you for supper. Yes. You'll be nicely dressed."

_I don't doubt I will be. _He sighed a little bit and nodded with a smile, then walked into the room as if he could see. Igor shut the door behind him, cutting off the last of the light. Borden was tense, ready to leap at the door if it sounded like he was being locked in again, but nothing of the sort happened. Once Igor's steps were far away, he went carefully, padding softly in the dark, over to where he thought he had seen the drapes. In a moment, he had pulled the thick velvet back, and some weak light came into the room. The view made him catch his breath and step back, surprised.

Not sixty feet away, a hill reached up, jagged, one that had been hidden by the castle at their approach. There were dozens of poles sticking up out of the ground, firmly planted, sharp ends pointed at the sky. He counted seventy-two at a glance. Seventy of them were stained with something dark.

_One for each of us. Who is this man? _He put his hands in his pockets, apparently admiring the view, but he wanted to feel that key again, to know it, without it being clear what he was doing. Not knowing anything about this castle other than that something was twistedly wrong here, Borden was going to assume that he was being watched at all times, and he was going to keep his own secrets. It was his art, after all.

There was a sudden sharp creak that would have made him jump if he wasn't holding onto his nerves, and he turned for its source. There in the doorway, the black cat stood, hesitantly. It looked at him like it wanted him, but it was clearly afraid. Its huge eyes scanned the room, looking longer at the shadowy places (of which there were many), and its feet looked ready to leave the ground at a snap. When the cat met Borden's eyes, he felt some sort of recognition there, and he didn't understand the feeling at all.

"Come here, kitty. Come on in. I won't hurt you. Come on." He purred at it and crouched down, holding a hand out. Carefully, the cat crossed the threshold, and then ran to him. It leapt up onto his knees, poking them accidentally with its claws as it worked for its balance, and Borden just picked it up and stood again, rubbing its sleek fur. The cat didn't purr.

_I wonder how Angier's working out? _


	8. Interim

Angier shut the door behind himself as he walked into the room, although he knew that Borden wished he hadn't. He didn't understand why there was so much reluctance in the other magician all of a sudden, or why it was so poorly hidden. This was Borden's trip, after all. Shouldn't he be glad that they were finally here?

There were three large windows with sinister looking panes, and the curtains were pulled away from all of them, letting the light stream in. Aside from that, there were several candles lit in the darker places, and the room really did seem to be glowing. He liked it. It was hard not to; the plush décor alone could set a man at ease. He dropped back onto the bed, sinking into the feathers, and let himself give a long, contented sigh. Hopefully, once Borden had a chance to relax in his own room, he would remember to develop manners. It wouldn't do to alienate the Count on the first night. _Also, I hope that Igor thing won't be at dinner. _

* * *

The cat had leapt away from Borden and onto his bed, which was narrow and thin, although admittedly soft. There were iron posters painted black, and the bedding was black as well. The cat blended in perfectly, and the only thing that gave it away was the glow of its eyes as it followed him around the room. Borden had found and lit a lamp, and he carried it with him. There just wasn't enough light in the room not to. He had cleaned himself up in the cold basin of water on a side table, and the towels next to it had been black. He was dressed in dark colors, his nicer clothes (_Bertie, trust me, I'll look better in this than the other one)_ and his shoes were polished. Now, he was working on the most important part of his dress for the evening – concealment. Still assuming he was being watched, Borden was maniacally careful about when and where he placed the two knives he intended to bring down, and the various bits of magical fluff that he thought might be requested. After that, he massaged and worked his hands carefully and thoroughly. He wouldn't be off his game by an inch.

* * *

_Note from author: the count really does show up in the next chapter. I intend for the story to have blood, slash, and your usual horror elements. This is the disclaimer, as I won't be putting one before every act -- I meant, chapter. If you do NOT want to read a story about Angier and Borden and the slash between them, stop reading this story. If you don't want to see some horrible things happen to them, stop reading. If you will be shattered by the thought of a vampire being opportunistic, instead of strictly heterosexual, also, stop reading. That's it. Cheers. Any questions, feel free to e-mail me and ask, or grab me on AIM sometime. Once this story draws to its conclusion, some shorter ones will follow. _


	9. Supper, Part 1

There was no human announcement of when mealtime was to begin, and both men, each still in his separate room as the manners of the newly-arrived seemed to dictate in a house like this, were tightly wound and ready for something to happen. When the small gold bells rang and their doors swung open, each man left his room somewhat curiously. There were only torches lit along the right wall, and only in certain halls, Angier noted. Clearly, they were meant to follow the light. By the time he took his first step, Borden had quite suddenly joined him, appearing at his right elbow with the silence of an apparition. Angier gave a brief, appreciative, smile.

"Appropriate entrance. This castle has an ominous air to it, wouldn't you say? Ghosts may live here."

"If you can call it living." Borden tugged down the bottom of his deep-blue vest, then looked back up at him. He searched Angier's face for something that he didn't see, and then shrugged, just a little bit. Angier wondered what was concealed under the jacket and vest, the high collar with the peacock blue cravat. _I've never seen Borden wear a cravat that I can recall. Quaint of him. _He could appreciate, at an aesthetic level, the other man's appearance. Borden was all dark, rich colors – the blue, the gold chain that should, and probably didn't, end in a watch, the shirt that was somewhere between midnight and black, and the black jacket, slacks. It looked good on him, with all of the color in his skin, the intensity of his eyes. Angier himself felt out of place for a moment, thinking about it. He had worn a favorite of his, the open-collared, brilliantly white shirt with a champagne vest, and of course, the nearly-shining black jacket. His hair was also brilliantined, and he noticed that Borden's was merely combed back. _At least the Count should be able to tell us apart. I wonder what Borden has hidden on him? _

"Going to stop staring at me anytime soon, old man?" Borden gave Angier's cane a light tap with his toe, and Angier quickly scowled, looking down at him. Borden's muscular little frame could be impressive to someone else, he decided, but as far as he himself was concerned, everything about Borden was, once again, an irritation.

"I'm merely shocked. One would assume that you know the year." Angier shook his head minimally, as if it didn't matter, and continued. "Let's go down. It appears the way is lit."

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the dining hall, as the torches and candles increased exponentially the closer they got. Angier had expected to see a large table, sumptuously set for three at intervals, one which could normally accommodate many more guests, but he was surprised when they arrived. A small table, square, with exactly three chairs stood on the center of a deep red rug, and two fireplaces, on opposing walls, were blazing. There were red candles on the table, and gold utensils set out alongside the black plates and bowls. A line between his eyebrows, Angier looked around the room. Where was their host? He caught a glance at Borden, who was also looking around, although he seemed unconcerned for the moment. Borden moved first, to walk over to the table. He tapped his fingers on it lightly, almost innocently, and walked around it in a circle, a little smile spreading over his lips.

"Awkward, using a square table for three. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose." That wasn't what Angier had expected to hear, and he joined Borden. "It's never possible to arrange the seating perfectly."

"We've got nametags." Borden picked his up off of his plate and gave it a once-over, then put it back down. It drew Angier's attention well enough, and he saw that Borden would be sitting at the Count's right, while he himself would be directly across from the man. _Why does that seem strange? It shouldn't mean anything. _He dismissed the thought and stood near his chair, waiting politely. Borden, meanwhile, walked over to one of the fireplaces to inspect the engravings around it.

"You seen any silver around here?"

"I'm sure I have. The man isn't a pauper." Angier wondered where this was going.

"That he isn't. I just don't recall seeing any. You mind if I stop by your room after dinner?"

Angier shot him a sharp look, but Borden's back was to him. "A brief visit is never unwelcome."

"Brief. Right. Got it." Borden shook his head with a little bit of a laugh and put his hands in his jacket pockets. He stood there for some time, feeling the warmth of the fireplace sliding through his body, wrapped around his muscles. _This entire trip has been a quest for warmth. I wonder if Angier feels the same. _He resisted looking over his shoulder – the answer was already clear. When Borden was concerned, Angier would prefer to be cold.

"I hope that I am not interrupting," a smooth voice interjected, from a doorway. Both men started and looked over. Dracula smiled disarmingly at them, holding his hands out. "And please, forgive me for my absences. They are many, and I regret, they shall continue. This season of the year gives me little rest. Allow me to introduce myself." He waited for them to take a few steps closer before continuing, with a white-toothed and calm smile. "I am Count Dracula, and welcome to my home."

Neither of them had anything to say. They couldn't have spoken right then if they had wanted to. Neither man had expected this.

He was _beautiful. _Beautiful in a way that a man never was, a way that a woman would be lucky to achieve. Everything about the Count was visually pleasing. The sculpt of his jaw, his pale but full lips that were open somewhat at the center, turned up at the corners in a smile. His skin was white, but not unhealthily so. How could he be expected to collect a lot of sunlight, living here? Dracula was tall, and he seemed young – certainly not out of his thirties. His long hair was a soft blend of brown and black, and it fell perfectly straight to the middle of his back. The cloak around his shoulders looked heavy and dramatic, and its blackness reflected back no light. Borden looked at his hands, each still suspended in the air in the gesture of welcome, and felt a surge of jealousy. All of his life, Borden had prided himself on his hands, on keeping them perfect, in their suppleness and strength, the length of his fingers – but he was only capable of clumsiness, in comparison to what it looked as though this man could do.

Dracula's smile widened, and he let his arms fall to his sides for a moment. "You must both be weary from your travels, I apologize for keeping you up so late." He removed his cloak and hung it on a peg, allowing both of them the easy view of his lithe, supple body. Without the cloak on, he seemed much more human and approachable, and his smile just a little bit warmer. He looked at Borden. Into him.

"I'm Rupert Angier, sir. I hope you don't mind that I've come as well." Angier had remembered his manners far too late, and he was standing up extra straight to make up for it.

The Count let his eyes wander over Borden's body before he looked back at Angier again. He nodded, then walked over and held out a hand. "Of course not. A friend of his will always be welcome here, in the Castle." They shook hands. The Count's hand was warmer than Angier's. "Was the journey painful? I will, of course, arrange for a carriage on your return."

Angier felt a strange sort of humiliation that the Count had so clearly noticed his limp already, and he nodded. "It was rougher than it would be for a thoroughly hale man, but no hardship. I'm just happy to be here. And I know Borden is as well."

At the sound of his name, Borden twitched a little bit. "Right. I am. Alfred Borden. Nice to meet you in the flesh, of course. Better than trying to decipher your handwriting – not that it's bad. Just fancy."

This seemed to deeply amuse the Count, and he gave Borden's shoulder a quick squeeze. Borden wondered when the three of them had gotten so close, and they all sat down. This wasn't going the way he had expected it to at all.

"Once we have seen the first course, I hope you'll tell me about your journey," the Count said, reaching for a dark bottle of wine to pour for them. A door opened then, and a slim young woman slipped in, bearing a tray. Her eyes were downcast, her limbs thin. She wore the nondescript black garb of a servant, and her hair, which looked as though it was black and lustrous, was mostly hidden under a cap. With light steps, she walked around the table and set their food before them. Dracula waited until she was gone, although his eyes had glittered strangely, hungrily, when he looked at her, and then he poured the wine.


	10. Supper, Part 2

I have not abandoned the story. I have been busy – ER, moving, blizzards, and stormy seas. All fun things, although not excuses, of course. I'll hush up now, though – I'm not what you've come to see anyway.

* * *

"What I don't understand, and hope you'll pardon me for asking," Dracula put in several minutes later, after hearing the abbreviated story of their journey here, "Is why neither of you were traveling in a car on the train in the first place?" He had seemed to hesitate for a moment when he asked that, clearly aware that it could quite possibly be a very sore subject. His white fingers were holding one of the dark, heavy forks with grace, twirling it. The Count hadn't eaten much through supper, a few bites here and there; he'd claimed an earlier feeding.

Borden and Angier exchanged a quick glance. Borden just shrugged at the question between the two of them, took another bite of an incredibly juicy piece of meat, and started talking. "We would have, but for bad luck. The night before I was to get on the train, I partook of a little _too _much drink. It was nothing like this wine, of course." He tapped the side of his wine glass with a knife and shook his head. "But… eh, I was drunk. I wandered around, got myself mugged, ticket and all. 'N that's that."

"Oddly enough, my story is much the same." Angier gave a very soft, regretful sigh. "I'm only thankful that I'd deposited my luggage at the station already, although I am surprised you managed to retrieve it here. I must admit, I was missing this jacket."

"Yeah. Thought I'd left mine behind somewhere, figured it was nabbed too," Borden agreed. "Don't remember actually taking it to the station."

Dracula smiled. "And yet, you must have. I had a man meet the train; he has an eye for things. I only hope he didn't leave anything behind." Both of them protested that he hadn't, that they'd been pleasantly surprised to have everything brought up to their rooms earlier, and Dracula seemed to take that in stride. "It's curious, isn't it, that two such masters of legerdemain were taken in such a base fashion? Surely one of you must carry a knife…?"

An awkward silence followed that, causing the Count to look extremely apologetic. After giving each of them their own look of assessment, he smiled again however, and took a long, slow drink of wine. His eyes were halfway closed when he did this, and there was, for a moment, a sublime look of pleasure on his face. When he set the glass down, his dark eyes did not spare either of them. "I am sorry for speaking of things that are inappropriate. Although I am in fact of royal blood, perhaps you'll excuse my lack of decency on the grounds that I am rather removed from society."

It for an effort for Rupert to keep himself from scowling suddenly at this, and he adjusted the angle of his chair a little bit, causing it to grate loudly on the ground. "Don't worry about it. I'd like to say that you're among friends, although taking the liberty to make such a statement in your house…"

With an elegant gesture, Dracula waved away Angier's overly-humble overture. "Of course, we all are."

By this time, Borden had eaten his fill and finished the wine in his goblet, the water in his glass. He folded his arms over his abdomen – a motion that Angier abhorred in a polite setting, as it spoke of such obstinacy and insecurity- and leaned back in his chair.

"Friends." Borden's lips twitched.

The Count's eyes moved quickly to him, s if they were prepared to quell any violent speech, and he turned his have in the smallest movement that could still be made to invite a question.

"You didn't bring us out here to make friends."

"No, of course not. Who would deny such a pleasant side-effect, however?" The Count's teeth were dazzlingly white behind his lips when he smiled. He was so calm, as if his heart always beat at a slower rate than the rest of the world, and his confidence could never be taken into question. His life was secure. "I have heard much of you, Albert." Borden paled when he was thus called, and Dracula quickly apologized. "Alfred. Forgive me. I heard of your greatest talent – to move from one space to another with the speed of a serpent's bite, and that you were… magically powerful."

The Count's accent made the phrase seem reasonable. Borden nodded, taking the time to think about how to phrase his next challenge. Before he could open his mouth again though, he looked over and saw Angier nodding, asleep at the table. Borden grabbed the other man's arm, heedless of their host, and shook him once. When Angier didn't stir, Borden got to his feet and pulled the man's chair out, slapped him once across the face. He did not notice, but the Count was watching with an icy composure, and his eyes were cold.

"Angier! Old man!" He slapped him again, harder this time, and it was enough to rouse his traveling companion. Angier scowled, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes – and then looked horrified.

"Count Dracula! I am so sorry. I've no idea how I fell asleep so quickly. My manners! I beg you to forgive me."

The Count shook his head, and his beautiful lips were unkind in their truer meaning, although they have curved into a Cupid's bow of a smile. "You've been on a strenuous journey for me, and for that, you'll find me a very understanding man. Let me servant bring you to your room again and help put you to bed." The slender woman with the dark hair and downcast eyes was back then, and with regrets and humiliation, Angier took his leave with her.

Once the door closed, Borden's fists were tight enough to be creaking. "You drugged him!"

"I?" The Count's voice was mild.

"I should kill you!"

"You don't even know why I've brought you here. Please, don't mention killing me again. It's ridiculous." The Count finally rose from his seat and took a step towards the magician, but Borden quickly moved back, aware that if they were too close to each other, he just might take a swing at the seductive man.

"You just said why I'm here. Not that I believed it, but I guess foreigners are wont to lie."

Dracula seemed deeply amused by this and held his hands out in a gesture of supplication. "I couldn't say the reason I brought you, not in front of him. I swear to you, I did no harm to your… companion. I brought you here to see if you were one like myself. Hearing so much about you, I had to know."

He was close again and this time his hands were gently and firmly placed around Borden's waist, eyes boring into his. Borden tried to move away but found that he couldn't. "I don't fuck men, Count. Let go."

The Count searched his eyes, his grip unyielding, and then seemed disappointed for a moment, before he tossed his hair off of a shoulder, revealing his graceful neck. Two small white scars gleamed on the marble skin, and he knew that Borden's eyes would be drawn to them.

"What the hell…? What did that?" Borden's defenses dropped in his confusion.

"Let me show you."

The last thing that Borden could recall before darkness exploded viciously into his body and mind was the sound of a hiss and the heat of two points of pain, the knowledge that he was no longer his own.


	11. partial postbite chapter

There was nothing around him but the blackness and the coldness, and it broke his heart. He didn't understand. Wherever he was, he couldn't see, he couldn't move, and all he could feel was an unutterable weight of sadness pressing down on his heart, the pain of isolation. He needed to throw his head back and scream and scream and scream – never mind the two hot points of pain in his throat. Borden didn't know what those were. All he knew was that the despair was too great, the darkness he was wrapped in too severe, and he couldn't bear it. Tears screaming down his face, he felt a scream tear out of his throat, a scream that ripped his skin open inside and made him choke and gasp…

"Borden!" Angier shook Alfred hard, a look of frantic concern on his face. "Borden! Wake up!" He shook him again, squeezing the man's shoulders hard enough that he was sure it had to hurt – and then finally, the other magician opened his eyes. Borden jumped away from Angier, across the bed, in one violent motion, eyes wider than a child's, then covered his face with his arm. "You… what happened?" Angier stood up, trying not to stare at him. "I know I should have waited up for you – I was just so damnably tired, and…"

Angier trailed off, watching Borden lower his arm to look at him. The other was clearly calming down. Angier continued. "I went directly to bed. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself. When I woke, it was hours later. I realized you had probably come by, and – came to see you. What's wrong? Did he hurt you?" He found that he had taken several steps across the floor again, back towards the bed and Borden, and made himself unclench the two fists that kept forming at the ends of his arms.

Borden frowned and sat with his back against the carved headboard, then rubbed the side of his neck. "I don't… just had a nightmare, I guess. I don't remember. An' he didn't hurt me. I think." He shook his head. "I just remember drinking a little too much, and when I wasn't making any more sense in the talk, he told me to get to bed. Think he might have walked me here, but… I don't remember…. Sorry."

The taller man sat down on the edge of the bed and studied his rival and companion intently, eyebrows drawn together angrily. "Can't you smell yourself, Borden?"

"What?"

"You're not drunk."

* * *

Sorry that was so short. In the middle of writing it, I just found out that the No. 6 jet of the Blue Angels crashed today, and it shocked the story out of me. I'll try and write more. Just... you know, hard to type through tears sometimes. Should be an update following this in the next dew days.

* * *


	12. Two

_You're not drunk. _The words echoed through Borden's mind and he remained silent for several moments, evaluating himself. No. He wasn't. He felt a little bit lightheaded, and deeply sad for some reason, but the lightheadedness was different than anything that came with alcohol.

"Don't know what to say about that," he finally replied, the words coming out slowly. The magicians met each other's eyes; what trick was beginning here?

"How do you feel?"

"Lightheaded. Fine." Borden shrugged a little bit, wanting to play it off so that it wouldn't matter. "Getting' tired, too. I'll see you in the morning, how about?"

Angier nodded and headed for the door. "Of course. Tomorrow should yield our answers." He walked out and it swung shut after him, without Angier's hand touching the knob. The lock clicked into place and Borden shivered, then crawled back under the blankets. He wished that Angier was still here. Right now, being in the soft bed with the rich sheets, the warm blankets, with all of that darkness outside... he felt incredibly vulnerable, and he wanted to be in that damn cot again with Angier, feeling the solidly-muscled body of another person there. _I should be angry, _he thought, pushing his head down hard against the pillow, slowly. _But that's not what I feel. I feel… Fear. _

"Fear." He laughed silently, once, a bitter sound. " I guess that's two, brother." His whisper was almost inaudible.

* * *

Angier meant to return directly to his room, but his feet seemed reluctant, and they took him on another route, boots making soft taps on the stone floors. There were only a handful of torches lit in the castle now, and only near their two bedrooms, but he removed one from the sconce and carried it with him. The fire whooshed softly as they moved through the air together, and he held it high enough that it wasn't shining directly into his eyes. It did not occur to Angier that his exploration would be frowned upon; it wasn't as if he was spying, or looking for anything in particular. He just needed to be moving, doing _something _to burn off the anger that he had held back for Borden's sake. He hadn't told the man his suspicions, that the Count had done something to him; it would have been cruel to bring up just then.

He had not remembered actually getting to his room after supper, but he did remember waking up in the chair, dressed, with a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a strange, dry sort of bitterness, and one that he remembered all too well; a girl had drugged him with something similar tasting once, leaving him dead asleep for hours while she cleaned his flat out of anything and everything valuable. Angier had, of course, filed a report with the police and she had been brought up on charges. It wasn't difficult tracking the foolish thing – she had tried to fence some of his pieces to other magicians, and they would have none of it. He was even fairly sure that they hadn't so much as _examined _the props; that was the sort of respect a man could feel good about having.

_Don't get sidetracked, _he reminded himself, pausing for a moment to consider which of the four ways to go. A narrow staircase, barely wide enough for him, led down, while another one right next to it led up. The hall branched off to the left and the right, and everything before him felt cold and empty. Angier sighed very softly. What could the Count possibly have to gain in drugging him? He already had the both of them here, at his mercy, really. Why not just be open about what he wanted, and take it?

When he returned to his room later, having replaced the torch in its eager sconce, Angier sat own at the small table and began to write in a very small diary he'd kept in his pocket. _The Count Dracula is a singular man, _the ink said, gliding out smoothly onto the nearly-white paper. _His eyes are direct and piercing, coy and seductive, and his every movement has a dancer's grace. He smiles and says thank you, please, and his conversation is pleasant – yet I feel that I draw nothing but irritation from him. This mysterious man takes no pleasure whatsoever in my company, and I think that he is only vaguely curious about me. His attention and fascination are all upon Borden- what exactly had he heard about him, before extending the invitation? What is it, exactly, that Count Dracula thinks Borden __**is? **_

Angier watched the ink dry, then folded the book shut, undressed himself, and blew out the candle. Darkness enveloped the room.

* * *

One other diary was written in that night, although as the ink was spread over these pages, there was no candlelight, no firelight, no moonlight. Only the darkness of a room without windows and a mind without compassion.

_I am frustrated. How could I have been so foolish, so hopeful, so young-minded as to let myself believe that Borden was such a monster as myself? The stories went directly to my head; the reviews were so lurid, I didn't think an ordinary man could be their subject. His blood was nothing but living, however. G-d, but it was no solace. No softening. There was nothing sweet in it, only the hot red violence of mortality. I could kill him for being nothing but a man, and condemning me further and further into my isolation. This loneliness. The disappointment… Ah, but I must not be too hasty. I've learned that lesson well. He is, after all, still here. Perhaps I can turn this back around to my… Advantage._


	13. Three

_Hangover_ just wasn't a strong enough descriptive word for what Borden felt in the morning. He didn't remember falling asleep, but when the dawn came he wished he couldn't remember waking up, either. The sunlight was thin and piercing and white but it slid like razor-edged fire in under his eyelids and traveled straight into his brain, dancing a jig on his optic nerves. Borden shut his eyes as tightly as he could and slipped his head under the pillow. Not yet. He didn't want to get up _yet. _

That was when a dozen points of pain descended on his back with a soft thump. Borden yelled and jumped up. The cat just dug her claws into his back, hissing and growling, and he flailed, trying to get her off without actually hitting her. Her weight dragged the claws in deeper. He swore and jumped to the ground – and she left go. The cat stalked away about a dozen feet, glaring back at him and thrashing her tail angrily from side to side. Stunned and angry, Borden reached back to the heat on his shoulder and touched it. His hand came away bloody. "What the hell did you do that for, huh?" He could feel the cool drips of blood flowing down his back and he wanted to pick the creature up and throw her. "You're lucky I don't hurt cats."

There could always be exceptions to a rule, though. The black feline sat down where she was and began contemptuously cleaning a paw, giving him looks that said she'd forgotten whatever kindness he may have shown her in light of her new disdain for him. He picked up the clothes that he intended to wear and, head throbbing and aching and muscles feeling weak and strangely dry, he went to Angier's room.

One knock was all it took before Angier ripped the door open. He almost bristled with barely-contained energy and enthusiasm; clearly, whatever was on the other magician's mind was enough to buoy him up. When he saw Borden standing there, shirtless and in an ill humor and with blood on his hand, he stepped back and grew puzzled. Borden silently accepted the invitation and came in, then sat down and listened and watched as Angier wet a cloth and brought it over to begin cleaning his back. The cloth was cold and, from the soap he'd rubbed onto it, it stung slightly.

"The cat, I assume?"

"Rightly."

Angier cocked an eyebrow. "Well, at least she gave it her best shot. What did you do to her?"

"I didn't get out of bed fast enough, I guess."

"Certainly not sullen this morning, are you?"

Borden cast a look of death over his shoulder at him. Angier's room felt so much less oppressive, though, so it was hard to focus on his feelings. Even the pain in his head eased somewhat under the surprisingly-careful ministrations. "If you have something to say, just spit it out."

"At least she didn't get your throat quite as badly," he commented after a moment, turning Borden's head and touching it with a gentle tip of the cloth.

Borden tensed. "She didn't touch my neck at all."

"Then what are these?" He ran a fingertip over two similar punctures. It stung incredibly, icy and deep, like knives going into Borden's neck, and the man flinched. Angier clamped a hand on his shoulder and moved his hand away from the neck. "Steady, man. Does it hurt that badly?"

"How badly would you say an ice-pick going through your neck would feel?" He reached up to touch the wounds himself, thinking that it would hurt less if he did it – but this time, the pain was almost enough to put him on the floor. He gasped, falling forward and seeing blackness rush up in front of his eyes – and then he remembered. On his knees, somehow already on the ground with a man's hands on his sides, keeping him upright, he remembered. Lips. Teeth. Eyes. A kiss, the most painful penetration into a body. Shocked, Borden's body heaved, but nothing came of it. He coughed and wiped a hand over his mouth, then jumped to his feet. He had just progressed to number three – in his case, anger. Or, rage might be more appropriate. "He bit me!"

"The cat bit you?" Angier stood with him, not sure that his companion would stay on his feet.

"Not the cat, the Count!" He picked up his shirt from where he'd dropped it and looked quickly at his back in the mirror before pulling it on. Then he leaned forward, pressing his fingers down as close to the bites as he could. There was fresh blood seeping slowly out of them but the edges were puckered and thick. He was sure they hadn't been there last night – _or am I? Did he do something to me, to keep me from realizing it? Does it take that long for them to show? _Borden saw Angier's eyes in the mirror then, the doubt and the skepticism, and he slammed his fist down onto the table as he spun around. "You don't believe me!"

"Unless you're accusing the Count Dracula of being a vampire, and I'm not sure what could be more ludicrous, I'm afraid I don't see how I can."

Borden was silent, quivering in his fury. Their eyes were locked and every old challenge was back between them, every thrust of one man's prestige and knowledge over another. He would make Angier see, he always did. Wordless, he stormed out of the room.


	14. In the hallway

My most painfully sincere apologies to those of you who still give a crap about this fic and want to read it! I just don't have a good excuse for those months of silence. However, hope is in sight. Since I wrote the first chapter on the 25th of October, I promise you all now that this story will be _completed _by October 25, 2007. And my sincere thanks to "Replicating" and… Crunchy Cheeze-It? Without getting reminder nudges, I really would have just forgotten about this entirely. Anyhow. Enjoy! Sorry this installment is so short.

* * *

One of the most damnable things about old castles was that with every twist and turn of the hallway it was possible, even easy, to forget where you thought you were going and exactly where you'd come from. This was a hard lesson for Borden to learn as he sought out the Count, intent on a seek-and-destroy mission. From what he'd read about vampires in the penny dreadfuls, they abhorred sunlight, so it would be natural for there to be some sort of basement or dungeon to a hellhole like this. There would be a coffin or a skeleton, some way to prove to that asinine lout back there that he hadn't lost his mind, and then he would not only vindicate himself but avenge himself as well. Of course, since this was one of those damnably old castles with its labyrinthine planning, even a man as single-minded as Borden could be thwarted. After nearly forty-minutes of exploration, he had to admit to himself that wherever the Count was, he wasn't to be found easily.

Alfred put his back against the stone wall of the hallway and sank slowly to the floor. There was sweat on his brow – although the air was cold even in here – and he felt miserable. The headache wasn't entirely gone, although the burst of activity had numbed it. Now that he was still again, the knives got back to work inside his skull and behind his eyes, slicing and prickling at his nerves. He put his face in his hands and took a long, slow breath. _Steady yourself, you, _he wished he could hear himself say. _I'll be alright, if I just relax. I'll be fine. I'm not alone. I'm right here with me, I'll never go away… God, but I did. I'm gone. Is there even any point to me still being here? Is it like the psychiatrists talk about in their dull presentations? I've attended the lectures in the hope of learning more about the audience I fooled so well with me, but I remember… Stress leads to mental breakdowns, to hallucinations. Is that what this is? The way Angier looked at me, like I was some kind of mad dog that needed to be restrained – before it hurt _itself _, no one has looked at me like that before. _

Of their own accord Borden's fingers wandered up his neck, back to the little holes. They still stung, almost worse now, and he quickly took them away. It felt like having giant bee stingers still in his skin, still pumping away dose after dose of venom. _Or like the bite of a viper, I imagine. I've never had the pleasure – perhaps until now. _Those holes were real. The pain was real. There was no medical condition that would spring up overnight like that to account for it, no spider here that could leave such a wound and him feeling so poorly. Sick, really. In addition to the pain, a new nausea was beginning to roil around in him, slipping up seditious from nowhere. He put his hands on his knees and squeezed them tightly, trying to breathe slowly and deeply.

There was that one question nagging at the back of his mind, the real reason that he'd gotten angry so quickly, the thing that made him burn and almost run through the halls: if Count Dracula really was a vampire, what happened to the people he bit?


	15. Looking Around

A vampire. Angier knew that things were strange, but he wasn't sure they were supernaturally so yet. Whatever the case, he didn't appreciate the way that Borden had come in, assuming he would doctor his back, then stormed out in a childish rage. The man could at least pretend that he had some idea of manners, couldn't he? Angier finished what he had been doing before Borden interrupted him, which was shaving his face, and then picked up his coat. He had to admit, it was good to have their luggage. _Although that it itself is odd enough. Even supposing that the Count was able to have it obtained for us, how did someone manage to get it here before we arrived? And without passing us? Is there a shorter route that we could have taken? _Angier frowned and pulled his coat on, tugging on the lapels enough to get it fitting perfectly. He shrugged the sleeves down smooth, then walked out. Seeing as he'd had such a pleasant walk around the inside of the castle last night – if a torchlight investigation could be called pleasant – he thought he'd see about the grounds now. They really hadn't seen much on their approach and when he had realized this morning that he really knew nothing about their location, it upset him.

As Rupert headed down the stairs and the hall, he heard the popping and wheezing of that Igor beast as it puttered about. He caught the scent of vinegar and stuck his head into the room where the lumpy thing was; Igor was scrubbing the red-and-red stained glass windows. _How domestic. _Angier raised an eyebrow at him and walked out the front door into the icy air. The sun was brilliant and it felt invigorating and refreshing. His hands were warm inside their soft black gloves and he had his cane to lean on, so it was a comfortable walk as yet. The path they had come up on was familiar to him already, so he didn't head down it. Angier did stop and look up, recognizing the windows of his room up there; this was the south side of the castle. _That puts Borden's room on the north side. I'll get there eventually. _The ground was rocky and rough and unbeautiful, small crusts of snow built up on the lee side of some of the larger rocks. Here and there were tough, scrubby plants sticking up. All of those were a sort of uniform grayish green, and there were no trees up here on the Count's mountain. Behind the Castle, on the North, he saw that there appeared to be a rise of a hill very nearby, as if someone had considered building the castle into it for protection. _It must be so dark in his room. I wonder if he even had any sunlight there when he woke? He did look hungover, but there couldn't possibly have been enough light to hurt his eyes. Damn it, man. Put Borden out of your mind and enjoy the walk. What importance is he, anyhow? _

He needed to focus his mind on something other than the problem of his feline-angering companion, so Angier decided that he would visit the horses. They had been beautiful animals, and it would be interesting to see how they were kept so healthy in what seemed to be such an inhospitable and terrifying landscape. Angier turned his steps to the West and headed around that wall of the castle.

* * *

Borden didn't want to get up off of the ground. He hurt, he was tired, he was frustrated. It would be easier if he could just lay there and not face the excruciatingly bright dawn, not face the fact that he was coming down with what felt frighteningly like the flu, not go back and face Angier who would undoubtedly mock him for using _using _the word 'vampire'. He sighed a little bit and swallowed hard, trying to fight down the sick feeling. A mildly refreshing breeze blew down the hall then, rustling one of the tapestries. It wasn't weighted at the bottom as the others were, and it fluttered smoothly like silk, water, or a beautiful woman's hair in the bathtub. Borden watched it, not thinking anything of it – until he saw that the wall behind the tapestry was _wood. _Not stone.Wood. It was a door.

The magician pushed himself to his feet, hands bracing against the wall, and stared at it. It felt staged, that breath of hope and reason for a renewal of suspicion coming right at the apex of his doubt, but it also felt… too tantalizing to ignore. He staggered across the floor – _god, how sick am I? I can barely move – _and shoved the tapestry aside. There was no knob, only a small black lock flush against the wood of the door. Borden tapped his fingers against it, all around it, and felt the solidity. He tested the door – the locked was firmly done. _I could go back for my lockpicks, but if Igor is watching me right now, I might not have a chance. What can I use? _He put his hands in his pockets to feel if he had anything left – and came out with that small black key he'd lifted from the man when they arrived. Borden's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? He slipped the key into the lock soundlessly, paused to steady himself, and turned it.

The locked clicked quietly and the door swung inward, opening onto a dark staircase.


	16. Breakfast of Champions

He held the tapestry back with one hand, the other still holding the key although he had withdrawn it from the lock. Light slipped in past his body, illuminating the first curve of the stairway, which was of the same dark stone that made up every other part of the castle. Here, though, the stairs were spiraling down in a tight circle, and he couldn't see far. He could see his shadow on the wall below him, looking weak and leaning. Borden turned and looked back over his shoulder at the hallway, both ways. He was still alone. When he looked back, he thought that his shadow looked a little bit dimmer than it had been, softer around the edges – but he had probably just not given his eyes enough time to adjust to the darkness.

Borden's heart had resumed beating and now it was pounding. He had been looking for something like this, expecting something like this, and utterly dreading something like this. Of course every castle in the Old World had to have secret passages, but so did every vampire of the Old World need a place to hide. To sleep from the destroying rays of the sun. _If I find him down there, I can kill him. I will kill him. That bastard bit me. And more, maybe. _He swayed, distracting himself from his thoughts as he almost fell. Borden's body seemed to be breaking down quickly – he didn't imagine that he had more than an hour or two until he'd be bedridden. _If I'm going to do this, I need to do it now. _He tested the first stair, which seemed secure enough, and then stepped down. The stairs were narrow, meant for someone who either had a light or knew exactly where he was going; he would have to be damn careful not to trip and fall. Starting to fall here, who knew how long it would be until he hit the bottom – or, for that matter, how long until he was found.

There weren't any torches nearby, he remembered. That was strange enough. They were so plentiful in other parts. He could go back for one, only a few passages away – his vision blurred for a moment and he felt a sharp pang of nausea slide through his body. Borden swallowed hard. No. There wasn't time. It was now or never. It was always now or never. He took another step down into the dark stairway and started to close the door. Before he closed it, he felt for a knob on the inside – but there wasn't one, only another lock. He was willing to bet that it would lock on its own as soon as it was closed, so he let go of the tapestry. As it fell into place, the stairs were plunged into darkness – darkness that was not yet complete. Not as complete as it was about to be. Borden let both of his hands wander over the walls, around the door frame, seeking the perfect place to hide the key; if he was caught down there, he didn't want it to be found on him. If it was, if it was taken, he had no way out even if he could escape. There – a notch in the frame that felt like rats had chewed on it caught his fingertip. He explored it, sticking his finger in and moving it around as much as he could, but there was nothing there now. Borden ripped off a thin strip of his shirt – there was a benefit to silk, and that was how easy it was to tear without a starting cut – and tied it through the little hole at the head of the key. He wadded it up, making a larger lump of it than it was, then pushed it into the hole. His head was starting to pound hard and sharp at the back of his skull; time was wasting. He _needed _to get down there. "Get in there," he whispered urgently, pushing the lump in. It went. Hidden.

Now, just the door. Just one last commitment. Borden looked at it – and then he pushed it shut. _Then _there was real darkness on the stairway. It was like having a black velvet hood tied around his face in a room that was lit only by candles; there was nothing for him to see. He took a deep breath, a steadying breath, the kind that pulled so much oxygen into his lungs and made his blood tingle with energy, then put both hands on the walls and started down the stairs. There was a mystery waiting to be killed, down there. He was too angry not to be the one to do it.

* * *

The wind was building itself up to a feverish pitch outside the castle, high up, ripping itself around the spires. Angier was glad that he wasn't wearing a hat, as it would be long gone, but he had to squint his eyes. Even still, they were tearing. That couldn't be helped. He lowered his chin against his chest and continued walking, intent on getting to the stables. A spot of color caught his eye, then, something brave and timid at once and demure against the grit of the earth. A flower. Angier stopped, surprised. It was encrusted in snow but it didn't seem to mind – purple and healthy looking, it soaked up the sunlight. It was small, a tiny little shrub, but attractive. And strange. _Have I seen something like this before? I want to call it wolfsbane – but the plant itself doesn't fit. It should be taller. I wonder if this is some relative. Hm. Interesting. _He cocked an eyebrow at it before continuing on his way.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of stables everywhere. Manure, horse, hay. He smiled a little bit. At least it was reminiscent of – no. Angier stopped himself before he would allow himself to think of home, of any sort of home. With a woman dead in the past, there wasn't any point in considering any of this to be meaningful. It was just life, he was only going through the motions.

_Good Lord, _he thought, straightening up a little bit more. He could see the roof of the stable now. It was made of wood and was very near the castle walls, although it didn't look like it was connected. _I let Borden upset me and then I allow myself to go completely maudlin. What am I attempting to do, be a one-man drama? _Angier sighed a little bit, his breath rushing away behind him in a stream of steam, and then he walked into the stable. He could see the two stallions in one large stall. The air was still in here, it made his ears burn and ring and his cheeks felt how, although he knew they were frozen. He cleared his throat and walked across the floor, which was strewn with fresh hay. _Where does he get the hay from? This must be an expensive endeavor, keeping these animals. I suppose they are worth it. _The horses gleamed, every bit as muscular and sleek as he remembered. Their heads were down and they were next to each other, both eating something that he couldn't see yet. Mash, he thought, considering the cold of the weather.

His femur started throbbing unexpectedly and Angier stumbled, catching himself against a pole. It was loud and it startled the horses – one of them whickered and both whipped their heads up and stared at him, eyes dark and their ears forward. "What?" He sounded irritable and he glared right back at them. They didn't seem quite as worth visiting anymore, they were just dumb animals with dripping muzzles.

Something clicked in Angier's place and he looked harder at the beasts, pushing himself to be standing again, to ignore the pain in his leg. That wasn't right. Their mouths shouldn't be so wet, should they? He started towards them again, wanting to get close enough to their gate to look over it. His cane was loud on the floor and he thought his breathing had never sounded so harsh. Something felt _wrong. _Deeply, sickly wrong.

He was at the gate then and, just as the horses put their heads back down to continue eating their breakfast, he looked in and saw it.

A flash of white horror shot through his mind. He was frozen and still. His hands were clenched on the top of their gate. They looked so content, tails swishing gently, mouths chomping, teeth grinding. Their breakfast was spread across the floor – which was covered in blood. Gray fur all around, ripped off in chunks by broad, flat teeth. Lips curled up in a rictus snarl over razor fangs, eyes permanently open. Its ribs were broken apart and its stomach cavity was wide open, intestines and blood being lapped and sucked up, bitten off and swallowed.

A wolf. They were eating a wolf.

"Mother of God…" Angier crossed himself. His voice sounded terrified, even though it was a whisper. "_Borden!" _As he turned to hurry back to the castle, to warn him or apologize or tell him to grab his things and flee, something heavy crashed into Angier's face. Things went black and he fell to the ground.


	17. Bargaining & Accepting

Darkness was battened down around his eyes, he almost felt that he could feel it creeping into his mouth and into his ears, softening and deadening all of his senses at once. All but touch – sensitive fingertips were still out on both walls, feeling every minute change in the stone's grain, in the cracks, remembering. Any prestidigitator worth his weight in silk would remember what he touched almost better than what he saw. Borden was no exception. His steps were slow and his breathing slower, trying to calm himself and his anger and the pain in his head and the weakness in his body into silence. He kept blinking, his eyes straining and trying to adjust, until he remembered to just close them. Closing them made the darkness feel that much less intense.

Sweating lightly, he wasn't sure how much further he could go – but then he felt a slight difference in the temperature of the stones. Borden slowed to a stop, then ran his right hand forward – it ran into a door. Wood. He felt down for a knob, but there was none; under his touch, the door swung open silently. Borden's eyes shot open. There was light.

It was a dungeon.

_What else could I expect? _He asked himself, trying to get over his surprise as he looked around, walking in. The impulse to call out and see if there was anybody there was strong, but he new better. His shoes scuffed loudly when he walked in and Borden froze. Nothing stirred. It felt like he was alone down here, but he couldn't be. There were more torches and candles here than there had been anywhere else, but somehow, this brightness didn't bother him. It felt infinitely better than the brilliance of dawn. The magician's feet carried him almost twenty paces in before he heard the quiet sound of the closing door. The locking door. He spun around, paying for it with a sudden wave of dizziness striking him, and he would have fallen – had not there been strong arms suddenly around him. _Angier? _No. It wasn't. It was the same youthful looking man of the long smooth hair and the deep eyes that promised to be able to _make _promises and offers for a soul that thirsted.

Borden's fury spiked and he pulled away. Dracula let him go, smiling just a little bit as he watched the young man stumble in his weakness and then fall to the floor. "I am flattered that you sought me out so soon."

"I didn't…" Borden got to his feet again, anger clouding his mind and seeming to thicken his tongue. He balled his hands into fists, beginning to breathe hard, tense – muscles ready to do what they had long been made to do, in man; kill. Delirium had its place in the human psyche after all.

"Did you not?" The Count held his arms out to his sides, spreading the cloak he wore so that Borden could see the brilliant red it framed his lithe body in. He looked around, as if surprised, then looked back at the magician; his smile had grown and now his fangs, white and sharp as a cat's, were glinting in the firelight. "Then why are you here?"

"To kill you."

"To kill me." He walked towards Borden again, staring into his eyes, arms still at his sides. "Are you sure?" The measure of his voice was even, his tone was gentle and patient – things that were alien to Borden, but now that he had them, he wanted. Seeing, or feeling, the new and acute yearning for a patient love and an understanding, Dracula pressed his advantage. Humans were so painfully easy to play – all of their passions and spirit went into one brief lifetime, one tumultuous fight for their own soul. _And they always lose. There is no way to pass the test of life and come out clean. I, of all, know this well. _He moved closer once more, putting them only a few feet apart. Borden did not move to fight him. Dracula lowered his right arm, but his left he put lightly around Borden's shoulders and his neck, still staring into his eyes. "You came in such a hurry. You sought me out, angry and frustrated, afraid and tired – and lonely. It was the loneliness, wasn't it? The loneliness that truly sent you down here.." He saw the words strike home somewhere in the man's heart and he let his smile fade – there was compassion on the vampire's face now. "It's alright. I understand. I know loneliness and despair beyond desperation. I know what it feels like… having lost the one thing that meant most to you, although for me, it was not a brother."

Albert tried to wake himself up. He couldn't look away from those eyes, he felt like where their eyes met, their souls did as well and they drifted together on the glassy surface of a windswept green sea, somewhere surrounded by clouds, isolated but free – free and alone with each other. _Albert…stop it, wake up. He talked about me. Didn't you hear that? How could he know about me? I never told him. _He shook his head a tiny bit at himself, still staring into those receptive pools of color that he _needed. _Borden felt himself putting his hands up against the vampire's chest – Dracula was a small man, but very strong. _He's real. He's still here. I'm not. I can't mourn me forever. I can just… have something with him, I don't know what, for a night and then go… I deserve that much, don't I? _He felt the indignant anger of his better half rise within him and shake its head. _I can't be serious! I died – there is loneliness in death, yes, but there is sanctity too! There is no sanctity in this man! _

"Be quiet," Borden whispered, hot tears filling his eyes.

"You weren't addressing that to me, were you?" Dracula put his other arm up now, a hand on the back of Borden's head, stroking his hair lovingly. "It's telling, don't you think, that it's your brother you yearn so strongly for. Not for Sarah, not for Rupert, although you loved them both. They were never what you needed…" He pulled the human close against himself, still petting his hair, soothing and calming him with all the physical affection of a mother; Borden needed it, and it was making Borden his more and more with every word. "Your brother was part of your soul. When that was ripped away… what did you have left? A broken heart, a broken dream… And no hope." He sighed, closing his eyes, listening to the rush of blood going through Borden's body when the man suddenly broke into a hoarse sob. "Ahh, yes… No hope."

_I'm not even going to try to kill him, _Borden realized, face against the vampire's shoulder, tears breaking him further. Finally, he stepped back. "What about Angier?"

"Did you tell him?" Dracula raised an eyebrow in a manner that suggested it was only mildly important. When Borden nodded, wiping the back of his sleeve against his tears, Dracula shook his head. "He cannot leave, then. He will be a danger."

_A danger. Oh, God, I don't even understand what you're really offering me, but I want it so badly. I need it. I can't go back. I need you. _"I… what would it take, to change your mind about that? To get you to let him go freely?"

"You're bargaining now, Borden… you know what that means, don't you?"

The formerly glorious stage-magician hesitated before nodding and saying: "I'm going to die."


	18. Chapter 18

_What the hell happened? _Angier's head was hot agony and his eyes didn't want to open. He smelled manure and hay and knew that he was in a barn, but he didn't remember yet why. Throbs of pain started in his head and traveled down his body, making him feel sick. He groaned very quietly when he tried to move – it felt like his head would split apart and also that his leg wouldn't move. It was hot and heavier than usual. _Inflammation, _he tried to tell himself, attempting to force his eyes open. They obeyed – and he found himself staring straight up at a hole in the ceiling of the stable. The stable. He had come to see the horses. He remembered that now. Hadn't there been something wrong with them?

A faster heartbeat of fear for what may have happened to his leg took up and Angier blinked his eyes against the cold that was hitting them. It looked like the stable was paved with small stones, and one of those had fallen down atop him. The sky out there was no longer sunny and clear; it was a bleak gray and it was snowing. Tiny cutting flakes, some of them drifting down here. He lifted his head – _pain_ – and saw a fine dusting of snow on his shoulders and chest. How long had he been laying here? There was a stone to his right, the culprit. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at his leg, worried –

The cat looked up at him with a plaintive meow. She was curled up right on the old break, and now she stood and hopped to the floor, stretching. The look she gave him seemed to chastise him, to say that she'd been trying to help him by keeping the pained old bones from fusing, that she had been protecting him. Angier watched her distrustfully as she flicked her tail and went to the door of the stable. The cat looked at the snow for a few long moments before she dashed out into it, leaving tiny paw prints in the fine dusting on the rocks.

_Damn cat… _He saw his cane and picked it up, then pushed himself to his feet. He thought he might pass out again, but once he was up he started to feel better. There was a soft whicker which drew his attention over to the stable-mates and he saw both of the horses standing in a large stall together, heads over the fence, staring at him. Muzzles still shining. Then he remembered.

"Good God!" Angier stumbled back a pace, clumsily and hurriedly crossing himself. He knew what he'd seen. And the last thing he'd said – Borden. _I have to warn him! He's right! _Rupert turned and fled from the stable as quickly as he could, out into the storm. _The count _is _a vampire! He'll kill him! _The snow was thicker out here than he'd thought from what had been falling into the stable, it was like a lying blanket all around, and the wind was colder than he'd ever known it to be even in this god-forsaken country. He could barely see in front of himself, but he thought he could make out something massive and dark. It had to be the castle. Angier hurried. _How long was I out? God, god. Let him be alive. _

* * *

Eyes were stronger than will. Eyes could dominate everything, and he wanted them to. Slipping slowly into eyes, into accepting the truth, slipping into a quietly numb dying, ready to let himself disappear into the darkness of agelessness. What did a soul matter without a brother, a wife, or even a lover to share it with after all?

Count Dracula smiled a little bit when he saw the last of Borden's resolve melt away and he stepped away from him, breaking contact. "I called you here because I believed that with the magical gifts you were so highly praised for, you had to be a vampire. One like myself." He ran his fingertips gently through the air, causing it to waver like a heat mirage, and then something materialized. A large stone coffin, carved with crosses which were half defaced, images of snarling wolves' faces. "A vampire. Fearing nothing but the sun and the hatred, the lack of understanding, from man. Powerful. Immortal. Needing no comfort, no love."

He opened the lid of the sarcophagus, revealing it to be lined with red. Borden recognized it as the same color of the cape the man had worn when they met before; death went with Dracula wherever he strode. _And soon with me too. _Borden closed his eyes for a moment, feeling tears needing to fall; he kept them in. He took a deep, steadying breath – and then walked over. At the Count's gesture, he took his own shirt off as he came, dropping it on the floor.

Death. Rest. Eternity.

There could be no other solace.


	19. In the Cold

The cold was an assault on his body and Angier felt the need to get inside growing more urgent with every few steps. Not only did his companion need to be warned, but it was dangerous being out here. Having been still so long, his body was chilled through to the core. His hands were burning with the ice flying dagger-like through the air and his face was just as bad. He had to blink quickly to keep his eyes clear, and he hunched his head down close to his shoulders. _I should be there soon… The castle isn't this far away. My god. I didn't take a wrong turn, did I? _

Something dark moved quickly to his right. Angier whipped around to look for it, but he saw nothing there now. The snow was falling thicker than ever and the sky was rapidly darkening; the storm was only beginning. Doubtless there were dark clouds amassing here around Castle Dracula, preparing to unleash everything and see what could be left to survive the cold. Angier tightened his hand around his cane, barely able to feel it, and was still. It was even colder when he was still and wind whistled and screamed around his ears. When he thought that he must have been imagining things, or that it might have been a trick of the wind, he turned to go – and realized he had forgotten exactly which direction he had been going.

"No… No, no, no." The man, handsome even in his fear, turned around quickly, seeking the way. Where was it? He didn't see anything anymore! Just the snow. "Damn it, Angier!" Deeper fear taking root. A trace of panic. Which way back?

Another dark shape passed by him on his left and he spun to look at it – but then there it was again on his right. He heard something behind him. Something was out here with him, an animal. Not a horse. Not the cat. Not that wheezing excuse for a domestic servant. He didn't know what it could be and he didn't want to know – he looked again at the sky all around, seeking lights of the castle, a shadow, anything…

And that was when the first howl came.

It started out with the soft low melody of seduction on a velvet bed, but then rose to a higher pitch of the wild – a wolf. It was near, maybe fifty feet away, and the howl did what even the wind had not yet been able to do; it sent ice into Angier's heart. An answering howl from his other side and then from behind him. Wolves. Hunting, ravening, Transylvanian wolves. He hadn't heard one from in front of him and he knew there was no time to waste, so Angier started running as best he could, limping in great strides, hurrying and praying. Another howl from behind him, this one sounding triumphant, and he thought he heard jaws snap shut just behind him. Growls, shadows at both sides, yips that sounded suspiciously like laughter. He tried not to look, not to see them, tried to just keep going – but then one of them knocked him down. 

Angier fell hard onto his hands and face. His cane skittered away over the rocks, lost in the blizzard. The sharpness of the stones cut his hands and his cheek; his forehead was already bruised and bleeding from the stone in the stable. His breath was knocked from him and Angier struggled to draw it again, convinced that with the next moment he would feel those fangs slashing through his flesh – but not yet. The howling began again, all the wolves at once this time. There were at least six. Breath finally was his and Angier pushed himself up. Cold pain everywhere. _RUN! _No time to look for the cane, he had to go without it. The man continued madly limping the way he had been running. He could see something there now, a dark shadow. It had to be the castle.

The panting of canine breath at his heels. A rock turned under his foot and the ankle of his good leg turned in a flash of heat and agony. Angier fell again, this time to his knees. He felt the blood flowing from them and from his hands. Something knocked against his pack and there was the sound of a wolf laughing again; one had jumped off of him, capering. _Having fun. _He got to his feet again, more painfully now than ever, and staggered on. He knew he was close to the castle, that shadow had to be it –

When he made it to the shadow, he hit the wall before he realized it was there. "Oh, thank God!" Angier's breath was short, his lungs tight and wanting to seize in the cold and the overexertion. He put his bleeding hands on the stone and hurried on, keeping close against it. It looked like the snow was lessening up ahead, maybe there was something blocking it, one of the other wings of the castle. Both legs wanted to give out, but he didn't let them yet. He couldn't. If he fell again, he'd die – and so would Borden.

_Borden. I'm going to save you. Forgive me for not believing you. Be alive. I'm coming. _

Angier stumbled again when his ankle tried to give up, but will kept him on his feet. Another howl came – and this time a snarl. Where was the goddamn door? Angier started trying to run again, and this time one of the wolves did bite him. It leapt, sinking its teeth into his calf. He screamed, a hoarse and guttural cry of pain and fury and surprise, and hit at the creature. It let go, eyes glaring up into his with unveiled hatred, and it darted back into the snow. It would come again.

Angier laughed. He didn't know why. The sound came out of him like a defiance, sending a puff of steam into the air. Everything was going mad. He hurried towards the lessening of the snow – and when he got there, he realized how wrong he had been. He was on the North side of the castle. Where the hill rose up. There was indeed less snow here, and blessedly the wind was even cut off – but there was something worse.

Stakes. Dozens of stakes embedded point-up in the hillside. All stained dark, save two. One of them had a cap put on the top, recently it seemed – to preserve its sharp tip. That one wouldn't be used. Not now.

He knew what they were for. What screaming fate, what days of dying, awaited any man or woman unlucky enough to be placed upon one, the wooden pike placed between their legs to a natural opening of the body, the weight of the body slowly pushing down, pushing itself onto the end. Torment.

_He wouldn't have let us leave. _

Angier looked again at the cap. At the stake next to it with nothing to prevent it from being used. Everything seemed still and silent now, not even the wolves were howling. _He still won't. It is for me. Borden is to stay with him. _He could have stared in horror at those stakes for hours, imagining those who had died on them; there were small piles at the bottoms, covered in snow, and he felt sure that those piles were the few remains that the wolves had ignored. Old bones. There was nothing godly or pure in this place. Nothing sacred. Angier turned and looked back at the castle – and that was when he saw it. Fifteen feet up there was an open window. There were no doors here, and he couldn't go back to the front, not with the wolves out there waiting for him. Not another twenty minutes in the killing wind. He stared at that window. It was high and narrow, but… He could do it. He had to.

The magician turned to the slope and climbed towards the two poles. Every step threatened to be his last, but he refused the weakness. No. He would do this. When he made it to the first he threw his weight against it. It rocked in place but did not give, yet. Angier struggled, pulling; it slid out of his grasp, splintering his hands. He cried out in pain, unable to keep it in, as he braced his feet and his damaged legs against a rock and pushed. The stake creaked and groaned and wobbled again – and then it fell. He barely caught his balance, but he kept himself from going down as well. Angier quickly shoved the stake down towards the castle wall. It clattered loudly as it rolled and bounced and came to a stop against the stones. He did the same with the capped stake, feeling every precious minute that passed trying to take life from them both. _Borden needs me. _He did fall this time when the stake gave way. It joined the first at the bottom of the hill and Angier was on his side on the rocks, something sharp digging into his right hip. He could have damned his weaknesses, but that would take him he didn't have. Once again, will and muscles got the man back to his feet.

He knew a fight to the death when it came. If he faltered now without recovery, death was the only thing left.

Angier went down to the poles and carried them, one by one, over to the window. He would have to climb the last few feet, standing on the slanted wood, but… it was worth trying. He didn't see another way. He ripped the leather cap off and tossed it aside, then put both poles against the wall, sharp ends in the ground. He leaned on them, pressing the spikes into the frozen earth as much as they would go.

_This isn't going to work… _He looked up. They were next to each other, giving him a slippery and crude way to climb, but the closest he could get their tops to the window was three feet. _I will fall and die. _

Angier took his coat off. It would get in the way. He dropped it. It didn't matter if he died, now did it? He had to try this. His vest kept his chest warm, but everything else was already freezing. He ripped off one of the coat sleeves and hooked it under the poles, holding each end tightly wrapped around a hand…

And then he began climbing. Pulling against the sleeve to keep himself up. Bracing hard with his knees, moving up in tiny amounts. He could hear the wolves snarling again, howling angrily. Did they fear to be back here? Good. Let them rot. His arms started screaming after only a few minutes, unused to this kind of demand, but he didn't stop to rest. He couldn't. It was working. He was ascending. He'd make it to the window…

When he reached the top of the poles he hesitated, looking up. The window seemed so far away. His balance was already so desperate, his body so exhausted – it didn't matter. He had to try. Trying felt like it would kill him, it looked impossible. _Death is the only possibility if I don't. Remember that. Death awaits, here or there. I am not a man to wait for it. _Rupert took a deep breath, remembering how betrayed Borden had looked when he laughed at him for thinking the Count was a vampire. He let go of the coat sleeve, pressing his body against the wall, already feeling precarious. Like he would just topple back and crush himself against the rocks. Heart pounding. Sweat freezing on his head.

Getting to his feet on this slant was the suicide of it. Angier moved slowly, fingers digging into the cracks between the bricks, as if that frozen-handed-hold could hold him if his feet slipped. Each leg protested, stiff. Knees stiffer. _But he did it. _On his feet, crouching, he was standing near the window. He slowly straightened his body, inch by inch – and then he was looking in. It was a dark room. Angier let go of his hold on the stones and put his arms inside and pulled himself in. He slid to the floor – and heard the poles fall to the ground.

He was back in the Castle.


	20. Thank you Master

Borden walked around the coffin, feeling as if he weren't seeing anything anymore. The Count had finally released him from his gaze, although not from his thrall, and now everything seemed muddled and unclear. The firelights, the stones, the sarcophagus, the vampire standing in the room with him. He shivered. His body was cold, weak, sick – giving in inch by inch to the reality that his brain was trying to prepare it for. Death. He'd been a man with a passion for life all his life, although he'd always shared it intimately with at least one other person, and this was enough to break Borden's heart. If it hadn't been shattered into pieces months ago, this _would _have broken it; deciding to die, accepting death, was taking the last step over the edge. Giving up. His heart bled, he thought, and there wasn't any _reason _to even try to fight. No reason to go back up there. No reason for anything, no reason to breathe. He choked on a sob, the last attempt from his body at striving for life, and then he was quiet too. Quiet like the creature watching him.

_I can't believe how pointless life is. _His hands were wrapped around the edge of the coffin, he stared inside. That was going to be his new reality, wasn't it? In there? _It doesn't matter who you love or how you love. It doesn't matter how passionately you strive for anything. It doesn't matter if you wake up every morning next to the same person and smile just to see them sleep, it doesn't matter if you can cook or if you have a favorite food. Standing in the white spot, glittering and moving in mystery and holding the minds of an audience captive in the hope that you can betray all of their senses, not even that matters. Life is the greatest, the ultimate, the only true exercise in futility. Why are we born, when we are only meant to die? Only meant to suffer? Joy is fleeting and impossible to grasp. Pain is strongest. Every man and woman conscious of the world should kill him or herself when first given the chance – because my god, this is all empty. The world is empty. Bleak. There is no way not to be alone. _

He believed all of these things. Even if Albert could call out to someone for help now, he didn't want to. Nobody would hear him, and even if they did, he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to listen anymore. He had chosen death. He had accepted it into his soul and it had broken his heart beyond repair, and all he could see now was the chance of oblivion. Borden didn't want to ever want anything again. He didn't want a passion or a skill for anything, he didn't want to remember anything from out in the sunlight. He wanted all of that gone, to be absorbed away in pain and in the pain of dying. He didn't want to hold back the desperation any more, he didn't want to pretend at life anymore; he didn't want to make feisty quips, or to admit to himself how much he had ended up needing and wanting Angier's approval and friendship, even though he was never given it and had every reason to hate the man.

_What the hell is he waiting for? _Borden looked up from the confusion of the muddled interior of the coffin, from the nonsense of the room, and met the Count's eyes. His body relaxed somewhat, once he was back in them. The Count was smiling just a little bit, as mysteriously as the damn Mona Lisa – no real secret at all, just the satisfaction of having a life willingly given up for no reason. "What are you waiting for?" His voice was rough, a rasp, it didn't sound like his own. Borden didn't care. The Count's eyes steadied him, beckoning him to be still. He obeyed, leaning the lower half of his body against the giant sarcophagus and waiting. Slowly, the vampire came around the end of the stone box and walked towards him. Dracula stopped just out of arm's reach though and smiled more, holding his left hand out of Borden's reach.

"You're giving me your life, you understand."

"Yes." Borden stared at that hand. Why did it have to be so far away? "And you'll let Angier go. And I'll be free…"

"Free?" Dracula smirked and shrugged, folding his arms over his body. "If that is what you believe, I should clarify things for you. When you become a vampire, and that _is _what I intend for you, you will belong to me. You will be my servant, Borden. Not like Igor – you will be greater and more terrible. A killing, murdering creature with no will but that to obey mine. And, you will be beautiful beyond words… How your eyes will shine…"

It didn't matter if his eyes would shine or not. Borden took a step towards that hand. "I'll still be dead, though."

"That is rather the point." Dracula took a step back, forcing the human to come to him yet again.

"I want that, Count… I want…" His voice was choked up suddenly. "I want this life to be over. I can't do it anymore…" The last was said in a pleading whisper. _How has he broken me down so quickly, so completely? I was fine, I thought, I… No. I wasn't. I was a shell. Cracked, ready to shatter at the lightest touch. I had no hope of survival. _

"I am doing something great for you," the Count said. Magical, measured, musical voice.

"Yes." Borden's voice was even quieter than a whisper. He remembered the pain of last night's bite. He was also starting to remember the pleasure that had come with it, the way his body had known what terrible thing was happening to it but had wanted it to go on and on and on. Remembered writhing in the Count's arms, fighting to escape and to experience the pleasure at the same time.

"Thank me."

The former magician looked up from his hand and at the Count's eyes. "Thank you."

"Thank me correctly."

A beat of silence between them. The moment of truth. Dracula's eyes were gleaming brighter than ever – the eyes of a devil. Willing the human. Pushing his dominance over him. Demanding.

"Correctly?" Borden's lips moved.

Dracula nodded. "If this is what you want."

"But I…" _And then he understood. _The human shuddered. He dropped his eyes to the floor. He had no way of knowing how much of this was the collapse of his own will and how much was the control of the undead monster. It didn't matter, anyway. "Thank you. Master."

The vampire smiled. "Drop to your knees, Albert. Come to me, and be reverent. Offer yourself to me – give this freely. Bleed for me, into my lips – and I will give you the only consolation your soul desires. The perfection of Life – Death."


	21. Take Me to Him

Pain. Torn up, battered, bruised, beaten, bitten. Pain. Angier was on his feet with one arm out against the wall, holding himself up, and then he looked around. Snow was flying in through the open window, falling all around him, but he still saw where he was. Borden's bedroom. _How the hell? _He looked back – there was no glass, no frame to the window at all, as if there had never been one. Magic. Fine. It didn't matter. Time mattered more. And planning. He saw Borden's bag on the floor next to his bed and hurried over to it. The man was trickier than a weasel in a bind, he had to have something useful here. _Wait. Dracula already has his paws on this stuff. Whatever Borden had, it's compromised now. _Angier pushed himself back up to his feet and limped out quickly, realizing in an instant what he had to do.

He picked up a torch as he hurried as well as he could down the stairs, carrying it in his right hand. The strong scent of vinegar led him to exactly where he needed to be. Oblivious of his new peril, Igor was still cleaning the windows, humming some broken tune to himself in a voice fit only for lulling the dead further into Hell's embrace. Seeing that hunched, lumpish body and the unnatural skin, hearing the cracks and the wheezes of its breath, Angier felt a wave of revulsion pass through him, almost enough to make him forget the pain and the urgency.

_Borden. I should have seen you by now. Just hang on. I won't let you be killed. _He stepped towards the creature. "Igor." Angier's voice was low and hard. _As one living human to another, Borden, I swear I will free you from Dracula._

The manservant jumped, spilling white vinegar all over himself, and cursed. "Damn it! Always fright—what do you need, human? Igor sees that you have bloodied yourself. A rag?" He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath and stooped to pick up his vinegar soaked rag again, intending on going back to what he was doing – but when Angier suddenly crossed the room towards him, Igor leapt back. He flung the cloth at the torch-brandishing man, but Angier only knocked it away with his other hand. "Stay back! What do you want! Igor will get it for you! Stay back!" His wide eyes were fixed on the fire.

Angier noticed. "You don't like that much, do you?" He waved the torch around casually, as if he had endless energy to waste on this, and then spun it in a dazzling circle. Flashy. Angier smiled and moved forward, spinning it with a casual air, backing Igor into the wall. Once he was there, Angier put the flaming pitch in the man's face, barely far enough to keep from burning him. "Where is your master?"

"He is retired." Igor stared at the fire. 

"And where is my traveling companion?"

"Perhaps you should take that up with him when you see him, sir…" the creature was already sweating, hands grasping and groping at the wall, wanting some weapon or escape.

"Why are there wolves outside?"

"It is Transylvania, sir, there are many wicked creatures hidden in the storms of the mountains."

"Hm." Angier forced himself to smile. "So I've noticed. At least two of them are right here in this castle. Let's try this again. Where is the Count right now? If you don't answer me, you'll wish you had." He met the creature's eyes over the fire, his own intense and dark and urgent. Angier had no patience for games. He watched as Igor stared back, perhaps weighing his options, and he counted down the few seconds that he would give him. How else would he find the Count quickly enough? How else would he save Borden?

Igor made up his mind and stood a little bit straighter. "You would not hurt Igor. Fear my master's wrath too much." He smirked, having figured out this stranger from the West.

There was a twitch in Angier's cheek and that was all the warning that Igor was given before the flames smashed against his face like a club. Igor fell to the floor with a scream, hands pressed up against his newly charred flesh, writhing in pain. Rupert stood over him – both legs crying out desperately for him to give up this nonsense and let them be – and glared down. Merciless.

"Take me to the Count. Now."

Their eyes met again – and this time, Igor gave in.


	22. The End

It happened when Borden was on the ground, on his hands and his knees. His palms were scraping against the rough stones and there was an old silver pin or something that had fallen in a crack, but as he waited there with a bowed head, he moved his hand just enough. A tiny stab of pain and a drop of blood from the taut palm and something wavered in his mind. He inhaled slowly, eyes open, staring. It was like a crack opened, letting in just a little bit of light. He pressed his hand down more onto the pin and its pain, trying to force himself to wake all the way. _What am I doing? Dracula is controlling me... that bastard! _He had never been on his knees like this before. Not for anyone. Borden felt rage budding within. He tried to contain it, not to shake visibly, and used just the flat of his palm to pull the pin up further, embedding it in his hand. He could get it between his fingers from there – it was all he had. _What have I given myself to? _He didn't dare to raise his head yet – Borden knew defiance would be hot and furious in his eyes.

* * *

"What are you waiting for?" Angier demanded when Igor stood dumbly before him, a hand still against his burn, looking confused. "You know the way, don't you?"

"You were bitten." He pointed at Angier's leg.

"By a wolf," the man replied steadily, not looking down. "Start moving if you'd rather not regain your symmetry." He was trembling and exhausted and the hardest part was yet to come. Let it. He prodded the man with the fire again and then Igor began walking quickly – almost too quickly for Angier to keep up.

* * *

"Look up," Dracula said, his invitingly smooth voice so beguiling, so easy to fall back into. One of his silken soft hands was under Borden's chin then, lifting it. The man on his knees was close enough to kiss the vampire's feet, but Dracula wouldn't demand it of him yet.

Borden obeyed after just a moment. His eyes were smoldering but he somehow forced the rage down just enough. His face had regained its stoicism, but he thought that the vampire wouldn't question that. He met Dracula's eyes, finally seeing the _true evil _behind them, but he didn't pull away from the hand. He had a pin in his own, but what good was that going to do? He had to wait for the opportune moment. Borden did not speak. He knew he couldn't call this hypnotic son of a bitch "master" again.

The vampire gestured for him to rise and he did. Once they were on a more equal footing, Dracula pulled Borden close. He wrapped his cool arms around the hot, thickly muscled human body, and sighed with pleasure. Borden was beautiful in every way. In his fury, in his folly, in his passion and his body, in his fears and his broken loves. Dracula closed his eyes, holding the man's face against his own chest, and stroked his hair lovingly. A perfect moment. It was unfortunate that _this _reality would not be the one to last.

* * *

Igor was terrified. There were no two ways about it. He was convinced that he was going to die – either a brutal death by the human's hand or a broken neck by his master's. He wasn't sure which he feared more, and that hesitation was the only thing that gave him hope enough to keep running. After all, if he got this Angier down to the lair, doubtless his master would be able to kill him. Angier had no way of knowing what he had to do in order to kill a creature like Dracula, did he?

He tripped over a paving stone at one point and fell, skinning his knees. The cat dashed out from under a table and scratched his burned skin, hissing in hatred. Igor cried out and struck the cat, sending it spinning in an arc down the hall. The animal crashed into the wall and fell in a limp pile to the floor, taking her secret and her curse to her grave. "You deserved it," Igor snarled. He felt Angier's iron hand clasp around his neck and haul him to his feet and he struck out blindly, arms wildly flailing until he was hit on the back with the firebrand again.

"Enough! Go!"

Angier forced him on. He looked at the dead cat as they passed and felt an inexplicable sorrow for her. Innocent animals shouldn't be caught up in dangerous webs like this. _Neither should men. _

He pushed the hunchback once more. "Hurry!"

_I'm coming, Borden. _

* * *

"I'm curious, Borden," Dracula whispered, still holding him close. "What did you think you were going to do with it?"

Silence. Borden's heart pounded. The pin?

"Did you think I would not notice the scent? The fresh puncture?" The cupid's bow lips were turned into a smile and the vampire's white fangs stood out like tiny razor-edged pearls. He sighed, a long and luxuriant sound, and rocked the human a little bit. Borden was fighting and struggling in his grasp now, but even all of the man's failing strength was no match for the merest effort from the vampire. "Sshh, sshh. It'll all be over soon. Calm."

When the magician did not immediately calm himself, the vampire helped him along. He savagely grabbed a handful of Borden's hair, pulling his neck to the side and revealing the two swollen puncture marks from last night. Perfect. Dracula laughed – the low and wicked laugh of the world's most self-satisfied killer – and sank his teeth back in.

As the fangs slid into the hot, fevered wounds, Borden screamed and his entire body went rigid. _This was pain. _The silver pin fell to the floor with a tiny, pure clink.

* * *

The sound of the scream rooted Angier to the spot for a moment. His eyes were wide and his heart danced in terror. _No! _He reacted barely in time, jarring himself out of the shock and grabbing the manservant before the traitorous wretch could flee.

"Borden!" Angier commanded, shaking Igor hard by the shirt. _Oh, God. Please protect him. I'm coming. I need him to be alive. Borden. _"NOW!" There were furious tears in Angier's eyes. He wasn't going to lose someone else that he loved. Not to the sadistic experimentations of another magician. "Where!"

Igor saw the change. There was no more delaying Angier. He had to act now or he would be killed. Silently, he took his keyring from his belt-sash. There was a nondescript door to their side. He inserted a small golden key, the brother of the one that Borden had taken, and inserted it smoothly into the lock. The clicks of the pins and the hammers and then the door swung in, creaking loudly.

It was insanely dark in there and a staircase lead sharply down. Everything in the castle felt dark. Even the world outside had lost its light; they were alone here in a storm. Angier looked once more at the dark staircase and then at the evil monster that had led him here. Face contorted into a frightening mask of rage – _he helped kill Borden! – _he swung the torch in a vicious arc. It struck the hunchback's temple and he crumpled to the floor, eyes open and jaw open, limp. Dead. Hopefully.

With no hesitation, Angier began down the stairs, taking as many at a time as his weak legs would permit him. The screaming began again in earnest, from below.

"BORDEN!"

* * *

_No! No! NO! _Borden continued fighting. His voice continued screaming. There was no more invasive pain than this. Dying. He tried to pull away, to hit, to push, to kick, but nothing worked. He could feel every wave of nauseating agony as the creature's mouth was filled with gulp after gulp of his blood, inserted fangs keeping the wounds fresh and open. Borden's head was too light and everything was spinning and he was falling and – something flashed. In his mind. He didn't know what it was, but it didn't matter; instincts were far stronger than thoughts now. One of his hands went into a trouser pocket, feeling – a little tiny paper packet. A small bump of red and white folded within it. Powder. He shivered and his screams stopped for a moment but the vampire didn't seem to notice.

Borden had no choice. He had to take the chance. He let himself go suddenly quite limp. The vampire hesitated, perhaps not wanting his quarry to die so quickly, and pulled his teeth out, looking down at the pale man he held up. Borden was still, head hanging off to the side.

"Borden?" Dracula whispered, a hint of worry in his dark blue eyes. "Don't go, yet. I haven't changed you… _Borden. _Don't die. Please?" The human did not move. Dracula gasped in fear; had he gone too far? He carried him over to the sarcophagus and put himself quickly inside, anxious. "Please. Look at me. You can't leave me alone. I can't do it again."

He heard a scream from above. Angier. Fine. The man would never find his way down here, it did not matter. He focused on Borden again, touching the back of a knuckle to one of his soft cheeks. "Albert…"

Borden's eyes opened. He stared at the dark, hypnotic orbs above him, leaning up slowly, degree by degree. This time, the vampire was the one transfixed, unable to escape the spell of a beautiful pair of eyes. Borden held him as long as he could – and then he took the chance.

A white-red flash of fire and a pop, smoke, burning bits of grit flying everywhere – and into the vampire's face. Dracula jumped back, rubbing at his eyes, which were already burned. He heard Borden move, jumping out of the coffin – and then he heard the door behind him burst open under someone's weight. Footsteps. He growled and spun around to face the threat. Angier would NOT take Borden from him! There was too much burning material in his eyes though; the vampire hesitated for a moment, not attacking, shaking his head like a wounded and confused animal, trying only to see.

"Are you alright?" He heard Angier ask. Borden didn't say anything, but Dracula thought he heard the soft sound of lips. _No! _Fury. His eyes burst into flame, searing away any impurities, and he stared at them.

"Leave Borden and go, if you value your life." The commanding voice of Hell.

Angier had an arm around his companion, unsure of who was doing more to keep the other up. He was leaning only on one leg, the arm holding the torch was shaking, but still he sneered his hatred, shaking his head hard. "That's your mistake, Count. I don't. I value _his." _He swung the torch one more time – but this time, the sharp point at the bottom was plunged down into the chest of that terrifying spectre.

Dracula threw his head back and howled, an earsplitting scream. His arms were straight out to his sides and the flame poured suddenly from his eyes, engulfing his entire body, leaping from the torch to his chest, consuming his hair and his clothes and his skin with equal relish. The men watched only for a moment before turning and fleeing up the stairs. Both fell on the way; both held the other up. It did not take long for them to bind their wounds as best they could and put on their warmest things, and then they were on their way. The safety of the castle be damned. Wolves and winter were no match of horror against the ancient secrets that stone monument harbored.

As the two men disappeared into the storm, two small dark spots in a deadly world of whirling white and natural, ageless darkness, wolves took up positions around the Castle Dracula. Their howls echoed that of the tormented monster within, and it was a chorus that blended with the wind and became a music that no man, no magician, would ever forget. There was true magic in the world, there was sorcery and there were secrets darker than anything they had yet delved into – and those things were all left behind. A cold mountain, a bitter song of hunters, lives thrown on the desperate mercy of the mountains, and the secrecy of snow.

**FIN**


End file.
